


Night Terror

by Siriusfanatic



Series: X-Men: Past, Present and Future [6]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Captive Remy, Coercion, Dark, Depression, Disturbing Themes, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Mutant Massacre, Suicidal Thoughts, clone OC - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-12 01:51:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4460708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriusfanatic/pseuds/Siriusfanatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gambit's time in Sinister's underworld is drawing to a close; his powers and control are growing.  Victor Creed, meanwhile, soon finds he's not as high up on the food chain as he would have liked to believe. Despite all the hell the feral has put him through, Remy still attempts to extend an olive branch to the other mutant, realizing that they may need each other down the road as Essex and his partner Dark Beast become more desperate to control them. But Victor isn't aware of Remy's secret; his connection to Wolverine.<br/>Sinister has new perils up his sleeve, and a job in the tunnels of under New York that needs taken care of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *Trigger warnings up front!  
> This fic isn't overall as dark as the previous one in the series, but still contains many disturbing themes like attempted assault/rape/non-con/graphic blood and violence and dubious consent. Happily there is light at the end of the tunnel on this fic! Please read with caution!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This is a flashback story, taking place in the six months that Remy was missing during "Not All That Wander Are Lost", therefore the follow up to this story can be found in the last chapter of "Not All That Wander Are Lost"  
> Sorry for any confusion; this is what happens when one shot stories suddenly explode and you find yourself writing a whole series around them!

                Bullets peppered the wall behind him as he ran, coat-tails flying out behind him. He leapt from the narrow ridge of the gutter he’d been running along, leaping through air and landing nimbly across the adjoining roof top, where he was able to flip himself over the balcony and duck for cover.

                The firing stopped, but the assault was far from over. Gambit crouched on the stone floor for a moment, listening for his enemies footsteps, which were headed towards the building. Gambit crawled along the floor until he was able to slip inside the open French doors that lead inside.

                He stood now in a darkened, second floor foyer, over-looking a wide open room below, that was largely taken over by aggressive weeds from the garden beyond. Gambit kept to the shadows, moving silently, watching the floor below as Greygrow appeared, his machine gun arm still smoking, his armor glinting faintly in the sunlight that filtered through the broken cracks of the dirt filmed floor-length windows.

                On the floor below, Scalphunter weighed his options. There were several doors lining the upper landing of the room, any of which Remy might have already escaped into. But his tracking senses told him that LeBeau was still here, just out of sight, ready to pounce.

                “Careful now, Cajun,” he cooed quietly into the room, “an awful lot of room for error here. Be too hasty and I’ll have ya right where I want ya.”

                There was a faint hissing sound and John saw a bright flash of magenta light as one of Gambit’s charged cards fell at his feet and exploded with a bright pop of light and a flash of smoke. Greycrow fell back, coughing, ready to open fire, only to feel a body drop down on him from above and tackle him to the floor, grabbing his armored hand and pinning it forcefully behind his back.

                “Looks like you’re de one who should be careful, Johnnie,” Remy’s voice purred in his ear, a little too smug and delighted for John’s liking.

                He knocked his head back, striking Remy in the face and causing him to fall away. Greycrow rolled and turned to fire at him, but Gambit kicked his gun to the air before he could get a shot off and was up and running again, unleashing his retractable staff as he used it to volt across the empty floor towards the upper landing again.

                John expected this maneuver, however, and fired above him, causing Remy to have to change course mid-leap. With a yelp he latched onto the over-hanging chandelier, hearing the ceiling chain creak and groan in result of this new weight.

                “Uh-oh,” Gambit grimaced, swinging frantically, causing the chain to pull further and further out of the ceiling as the plaster gave way, creating a rather large pendulum of brass and glass studded death. Below him, John stared with wide eyes.

                “Jump ya idiot!”

                Gambit used the propulsion to fling himself away just as the chain went go entirely, sending the whole mess tumbling to the floor below, where it crashed with an ear splitting clatter and groan, followed by the tinkling of shatter glass.

                Remy had managed to land on the grand stair case, though the landing had been less than completely graceful, covering his ears as the now decimated chandelier’s decent echoed through the abandoned room.

                Greycrow stepped around the wreckage, shaking his head. “See, this would be the part where you make the best of your distraction and get your tight little ass good and gone.” He muttered.

                “You are absolutely right, mon frere,” Remy nodded, straightening himself and putting his weapons away. “But there is nowhere in here worth going.”

                John rolled his eyes, “That’s not the point.”

                Gambit shrugged his shoulder; “Either way, I think I won dis round.” He started to move down the stairs but John stopped him, pressing the gun barrel against his chest. “Bang.” He muttered. “Yer dead.”

                Remy scoffed, pushing the gun away. “Come on, Johnnie.”

                “You’re not _focusing_ today, LeBeau. This is supposed to be getting you ready for what’s out there.”

                “It is,” Remy answered. He sighed and looked around the greyed and dingy room. It must have been beautiful once; a ball room of some sort. Why Sinister let it fall into such decay and disrepair was a mystery. “Right now, I am more concerned about what’s in _here_ dat I must deal wit.”

                Greycrow nodded thoughtfully. “Ya nervous? It’s been months; ye’ve been getting better and better at it. Everyone’s noticed.”

                Remy nodded; “Dat’s it, I think. I’ve got to preform perfectly today. If I can get through de whole simulation without a mistake…he’ll have to let me go.”

                John scratched his mustache, chuckling ruefully; “Sinister doesn’t _have_ to do anything.”

                “He promised me.”

                “And suddenly that means something?”

                “Non,” Remy replied. “But’s all I have.”

                John put an arm around him. “So, for the sake of argument…let’s say our Lord and Master actually decides to let you go out to find this Wolverine of yours. Provided you do, and the man still wants you…what then?”

                Remy stared fixedly across the room, “Then we run. And we never look back, not for a second.”

                John sighed heavily, “You tried that before, Remy. He’ll find you.”

                “Not if I keep my energy up; let it build let it get stronger. I’ve been doing it for awhile now, and I haven’t felt him in my mind at all; he can’t get through the barrier anymore, it hurts him too much.”

                “But it costs you too. You think you can maintain that forever?”

                “If I have to.”

                “Remy,”

                “Look, I know it’s not a perfect plan, alright?” LeBeau snapped, pulling away from his friend then. “But I’ll figure it out! I’ll keep Logan away from him, whatever it takes. I just…I have to get back to him, cher. If I don’t….” he looked back at the ruined chandelier on the floor. “Den I might as well end it all now.”

                Greycrow sighed. “Enough of that now. Come on, you’d better get cleaned up for the big show.”

                Remy nodded; “T’ink I will take a little walk in the Sanctuary first. Usually puts me in a good place before I walk into dat pit.”

                “Sure it does.” Scalphunter muttered; “Just make sure you’re back in time!”

                Gambit waved him off and disappeared out the ruined double doors into the gardens beyond, headed towards the neighboring building.

 

**

 

                Everything inside the Sanctuary was quiet and peaceful this morning in the bright early winter sunlight beyond the dome. Time and season mattered very little in the world below, and Gambit often struggled to keep count of the days he’d been gone.

                He made his way along the winding trail that lead through the varied enclosures, watching the creatures beyond stir at his presence, though most were still dozing. Remy stopped at his usual favorite spot, glancing quickly across the pathway at the enclosure where Creed lurked along with his own feral clone called Timmy. But he saw neither of them today.

                Gambit was forced to continue his interactions with Creed, thanks to his weekly simulation session with the feral, and less frequent gatherings with the other Marauders, who were now also housed within the walls of Sinister’s manner house. The interactions were terse, tense and usually poisonous, as Remy could not avoid feeling Victor’s lust and malice towards him. Yet there was some new undercurrent to Creed’s usual simplistic, angry nature. A gnawing fear, low and ever present, under his outward viciousness. Remy was curious; but he reminded himself that he had his own problems, and Creed was not his friend, as the feral had bluntly stated.

                “Bonjour little ones! I’ve brought you something,” he pulled from his trench coat pocket a large cloth bag, tied with a slip knot. He loosened it slightly and then hurled it over the top of the glass, watching it sail over his head. It fell with a soft thud upon the grass below, scattering bright colored sweets. “Found dose stashed away from my last stay here; lifted dem off a Japanese tourist. Thought you might like dem.”

                There was a faint rustle of foliage and the nearly mute thud of long, strange fingers and toes moving along the ruined build that housed the creatures. Remy watched as dark blue forked tail snaked out of the shadows, curled around the bag and snatched it away.

                There was a quiet chittering from the dark and he saw familiar sets of golden eyes looking back at him, and even saw a few faces. Yet none of them would venture much closer, watching him warily. This perplexed Remy, as the creatures were usually much more open and friendly to him.

                “What is it, mes amis?” he asked them, leaning closer to the glass, trying to see what the cause of their trepidation was. “What’s got you so—MMMPH!”

                A dirty hand came around his face suddenly, ragged nails digging into his cheek, smothering his words and his breath and yanked him roughly backwards. Trying to shake away the shock, Remy reached to break the hold his mysterious assailant had on him, only have his other arm roughly twisted behind his back and twisted nearly to point of dislocating it.

                He shouted against the hand and did the only thing he could think, which was to sink his teeth into the skin of the palm. There was a pained yip and the grip broke, allowing Remy to breathe again. He brought his foot down on his attackers, stomping his foot and then hooking his foot behind the other’s before kicking it out.

                They both lost their balance, but Gambit was able to spin free of the hold on his arm, allowing him to trap his attackers hand as he forced him to the ground. “Sumbitch, you--- _Timmy!?”_

                Remy’s eyes were huge as he stared down at the half naked, wild figure below him, who was snarling below him. Gambit dropped his hold on the man’s arm, letting the leaner figure slump completely to the ground, growling faintly at the aches he’d caused.

                “How did you--?” Remy stuttered, looking quickly back at the enclosure and realizing that the barrier had been deactivated. Before he could ponder the situation further however, Timmy pounced on him, knocking him to the floor as he attempted to tear at Remy’s throat and face.

                Completely taken aback by the formerly docile clone’s sudden malicious behavior, Remy fought to keep him at bay without hurting him. “-De _hell_ dey done to you!? Loaded you up wit some sort of steroid?! Pump ya full of rabies?! Jesus Christ!”

                They continued to struggle, drawing the attention of the surrounding inhabitants, who were all watching with fear and rapt excitement as the two identical men fought for power over the other. Through Timmy’s clawing and gnashing teeth, Remy was somehow able to gain leverage again, managing flip Timmy over his shoulder and send the lighter man flipping and rolling back into the dirt and grass beyond them.

                Remy crouched, panting and wiping blood from his face and hands, his sleeves were tattered and ripped and he bore more than a few ragged scratch marks. Timmy seemed momentarily stunned, trying to collect himself.

                “Alright, homme…dat’s enough now. Guess you see me as a threat…but I ain’t here to hurt ya. Can feel it, can’t you?” Remy muttered, trying to remain calm as he opened his Empathy, trying to reach out to the feral man in front of him.

                Normally when his empathic energies connected with another’s, it was like slipping into running water, and Remy easily navigated the murky, fast running waters of their emotions, catching glimpses of memories, or hearing thoughts.

                There was no current of emotion to the man before him though…it was like sinking into dark, empty water, being pulled down by the undertow where there was no light and no sound, just weightless nothing.

                Remy retracted immediately, gasping at the strangeness of it, feeling dizzy and weak for the experience. He started at Timmy for a moment in confusion, and the clone stared back, seeming to have disliked their brief connection as much as he had.

                “Mon Dieu…what are you?” Remy muttered.

                Timmy drew himself up again, leveling his gaze at Remy, cool and calculating. Remy was startled by not only the intelligence he saw in his look-alike’s eyes, but by the coldness there. He couldn’t sense Timmy’s emotions the way he did others, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t read his expressions or his body language. The man before him had nothing but contempt for him.

                “Stupid _LeBeau_ …you walk in here like it’s nothing, like you’re better than the rest of us….better than _me._ ”

                “What? No, I—“

                Timmy spat at him; “Shut up! No one told you to open your stupid mouth!”

                “I mean you no harm, mon frere…”

                Timmy grinned, showing slightly sharper canines than Gambit remembered him having. He started to take a few steps towards Remy, circling him, and Gambit did his best to keep a safe distance between them, not realizing that Timmy was herding him away from the opening and further into the enclosure with his slow, stalking movements.

                “I was supposed to be you?” Timmy mumbled, cocking his head, looking Remy up and down with a sharp, appraising eye. “What a waste…what are you good for, anyway? Do you hunt?”

                “What? No—“

                “You can fight I guess…not well though.” He grinned and cackled a little bit and Remy felt his pulse quicken and his stomach churn faintly. “…So what are you good for? Kitty says you’re a pet for the Bad Man. He likes the sounds you make when he’s trying to hurt you.”

                Remy bristled, realizing what he meant. “I may be a _pet_ , but it’s better den what _you_ are. A lab rat; a disposable experiment, like all de others. Do you remember dem, I wonder? I suppose you could call dem your brothers…I watched dem die, Timmy, at _Victor_ ’shands. I feel sorry for you. Your entire existence is nothing but a… _fluke._ Now look what they’ve made of you…”

                Timmy stood blinking at him for a time, wide eyes staring, seemingly confused, questioning. His advances stopped and he dropped back, arms wrapped around himself. “I…I’m not…not a _mistake_. I’m _me!_ “

                Gambit looked at him remorsefully then sighed, turning away and moving towards the opening again. “Desole, little one. I don’t know what hope you can have in a place like dis. It has a way of eating you from the inside out.”

                He never heard Timmy move from his spot, he only felt the rush of air a split second before something heavy and rough collided sharply with the side of his head, making a bright light burst in front of his eyes before he tumbled to the ground, stunned.

                Timmy stood over him, still wielding the dead tree branch he’d picked up while Remy’s back was turned. His originator was just as naively gullible and trusting as Victor had always said he was, he’d completely bought into Timmy distress and thought him powerless.

                “Kitty said you were stupid, but I didn’t know it would be _this_ easy!” he chuckled, discarding his weapon and dragging Remy a little further into the grass before neatly plopping himself down on top of him.

                “unh….you little… _fucker…_!” Remy groaned, trying to clear his throbbing head. He made to struggle, to grab a rock or a clod of dirt or anything and explode it in the other man’s face, but Timmy pinned his wrists to the ground with surprising strength and bit Remy sharply on the collarbone as a warning.

                Gambit hissed in pain and tried to wriggle free, but Timmy’s teeth were at his throat, threatening to bite. “What should I do with you?” he mumbled against Remy’s skin, making him shiver a little. “You taste…strange. Not good for eating.”

                “Get off me you freak!”

                Timmy bit him again and Remy howled, bucking up against him , trying to get free. The friction between the two of them made Timmy whimper as it earned a little thrill of excitement through his loins, Remy’s Charm starting to seep into his senses. The haze of it made him feel angry, confused and restless, but he felt a heat rush through him that he recognized on a basic level.

A wicked little grin came across his face that Remy was sure he’d be seeing in his nightmares later.

“Don’t you dare…” Gambit snarled. “Don’t you even _think_ it!”

                “Victor likes to fuck you…I know that’s where he goes, when he leaves me here alone. He goes to chase you. That weird smell you have now…it’s what makes him want you.” He squeezed Remy’s wrists painfully. “Think I’ll keep you here until he gets back…then I’ll get to hear those noises you make for myself. Won’t that be fun, _‘mon frere’?”_

There was a heavy footstep behind them then that made them both look back to see that Sabertooth had returned.

                The large golden haired feral had the most bemused look on his face as he stumbled onto the scene between the two nearly identical men. “Well, I haven’t checked the calendar lately, but I guess it must be my birthday.” He grinned.

                _“Oh fuck off Creed! Get him off of me!”_

                Victor shook his head, moving in a bit closer, “What’d he do, Timmers? Go poke his pointy little nose where it don’t belong again?”

                Timmy grinned up at him, though it really was taking everything he had to keep Remy pinned; “He came to watch de stupid blue things, and…I didn’t like it. So I caught him. He’s as stupid as you said, Kitty.” He grinned down at Remy again; “He thought I was so sad and broken, and he turned his back on me….”

                Gambit spat in his face and Timmy hissed like a cat in response and slapped him hard, enough to leave a bright red mark across Remy’s cheek bone. Victor laughed in shock, enjoying the show.

                “Don’t piss him off, LeBeau. He ain’t got fangs, but he does well enough in a pinch.”

                As if to prove his point, the clone grabbed a fist full of Remy’s shirt and tore down, shredding it at the collar, exposing the skin underneath, which he hurriedly began to bite and nip at . “AHH! Mother fucker!” Remy shouted.

                “Ye sure got him riled up, what did you do?”

                “I don’t like his smell!” Timmy spat, biting Remy along the ribs, attempting to work lower despite the way Gambit thrashed underneath him.

                Victor grinned again; “Lettin’ that Charm get the better of ya, eh?”

                “It makes him crazy!” Remy spat, “I can’t tell if he’s going to fuck me or eat me!”

                “Both probably.”

                Indeed, the other man was grinding against him, beginning to create a friction that was more pleasurable than painful, his mouth continuing to nip and lick at Remy’s skin in a manner that seemed both animalistic and confusingly sexual. Worst of all now, he could feel his attack starting to harden against him, feeling heat radiate from his loins as he continually forced himself against Remy’s hips and thighs.

                Victor was watching, somewhat entranced by the sight as Remy continued to squirm and Timmy began to breathe a little heavier. The clone dropped his weight down a little harder against his prey as he rubbed against him and Remy’s whimpered softly in spite of himself.

                “Holy shit, it really is my birthday…”

                Timmy made a grab for Gambit’s crotch then, squeezing painfully, and though it shocked Remy, it was exactly the opening he needed. He grabbed a clod of grass, charged it and slammed it against the side of Timmy’s head. His doppleganger went over with a yelp and Gambit kicked him away, scrambling to be free.

                But Victor roared and was on him instantly, slamming him to the ground once more. Remy shook his head and tried to recover, ready to charge at him, fingers crackling with energy and eyes glowing.

                “What on Earth is going on in here?”

                The group looked up to see that Sinister himself had arrived on the scene, closely followed by Hans McCoy.

                “What’s going on here is dat dese rabid dogs were about to tear me apart,” Remy spat.

                “Is that so?” the black haired man said, raising an eyebrow. His eyes drifted to Timmy, who hissed and backed away from his gaze. “Still afraid of me, I see.”

                “Are you going to _do_ something about this?!” Remy barked. “It’s one thing to stick me in your sick little virtual reality room and let Creed go at me, it’s another to condone what he’s been teaching to my goddamn clone!”

                “S13 has developed quite marvelously over the last few months,” Hans answered, eyeing Timmy. “We’re all quite impressed with his cunning and agility. This new behavior though, this strategic violence…I find it most fascinating. It’s a huge leap from the primal hunting he’s exhibited before.” The grey-blue Beast looked coldly at Remy. “I’d personally find it a fascinating study to see which of you would survive a night in the enclosure together.”

                “Now, now, Hans,” Sinister chided the man lightly, “We musn’t be so callous. This is Remy’s _home_ after all, he should feel safe wherever he goes.”

                Gambit rolled his eyes at the thought; “Dat _t’ing_ ,” he pointed at Timmy again, “has somet’ing wrong wit him. I tried to use my Empathy, and all I got a was feeling like…I was being sucked down into nothingness. And my _Charm_ turns him into a worse animal den Creed!”

                “Really?” Hans asked, quite intrigued. “How extraordinary. I wonder if it isn’t possible that your mutant abilities are canceled out when used on someone of your own genetic signature?”

                “I wouldn’t know,” Remy muttered.

                Hans smirked behind his hand as he scratched his thick jaw, circling Remy and looking between him at Timmy, “Yes, I suppose not. You were a foundling child, weren’t you? Abandoned by your parents once they saw your most obvious mutation?” He mused, looking into Remy’s black and ruby eyes; “A reject from the very beginning.”

                Gambit cursed and grabbed Hans’s coat, igniting it and causing it to explode in shredded tatters, sending him staggering back, smoking and smelling of singed fur. Dark Beast snarled and made it leap at him, but a loud shot-gun crack rippled through the air, startling all of them.

                They turned to see that Scalphunter, followed by Arclight and Riptide had entered the room. “Everybody calm the fuck down,” the mustached Comanche muttered, lowering his gun and moving towards the group, while his companions lingered behind. “Thought we had business to do today, Sinister,” the man muttered, sweeping past the smaller, slighter man with a mean look on his already harsh features. “Didn’t realize you were going to be too busy watching one of yer prize mutants get mauled by a bunch of flea-bitten fur bags and their jungle-boy companion.”

                “Eloquent as always, Mr. Greycrow.”

                John leered at the man; “At least _pretend_ that you’re above this shit, Essex.” He turned to Remy, pulling him back with him along the corridor, “Come on, Cajun. Save it for the Simulator.”

                Hans exhaled deeply, flexing his thick fingers as he looked to his partner and lover; “How can you stand there and let him speak to you that way, Nathaniel, much less walk away with _your_ property?”

                Sinister raised a hand to quiet him, and Hans obeyed grudgingly. “I’m willing to tolerate a certain amount of bad behavior from those who have proven their value to me,” he answered, eyes sliding from Hans to Creed. “And less tolerant of those who have _not_.”

                Victor snarled at him; “Don’t go bitchin’ to me, Essex,” the feral replied. “It wasn’t _my_ idea to teach ‘im to how to control his powers. Guess ya never thought the little swamp rat would actually become powerful enough to beat your little games.”

                Sinister looked at him sourly; “I think the problem is that you are _slipping_ , Victor. You’ve had to too good here for too long.” His eyes glanced towards Timmy, who was now lurking under the shadow of the nearest tree. “I’ve granted you certain privileges for your prowess. But you’re not holding up your end of the bargain. I expect to see a better performance out of you in today’s simulation…or I may have to start revoking them.”

                Sabertooth seethed at him, but Sinister did little more than turn up his nose at him and walk away, his gloved hand gliding along Dr. McCoy’s shoulder; “Hans, I have another matter that requires my attention. After that, I expect you to meet me in the study.”

                Hans smirked and bowed his head; “Of course darling.” He said, kissing Sinister’s hand as Victor stuck out his tongue in revulsion.

                “You two are so fuckin’ weird.”

 

**

 

                Sinister entered the now empty, decaying ballroom where Gambit and Scalphunter had sparred earlier that day. The scientist made his way down the stair case, surveying the collected group beyond. They were a unique collection of talents; mercenaries, thieves, criminals, murderers. None were above a class three on the power scale. But they were effective none the less.

                “About time,” Greycrow grumbled at the man, arms crossed. “It’s been weeks Sinister, you’ve been promising us work, where is it?”

                “Yes, and I’ve appreciated your patience, ladies and gentlemen.” The elegant black-haired man replied. “I’ve gathered you here because you are the best there is at your particular kind of work, and because I know that each of you will conduct yourselves with the greatest care and discretion in this matter.”

                Riptide glanced at Vertigo, rolling his eyes and Scrambler chuckled softly, while Scrambler snickered softly into his palm. Greycrow leered at them all and they immediately fell to attention again.

                “It’s a well-kept secret within the mutant community that there exists a particular class of mutant, whose mutations are so repulsive, or detrimental to those around them, that they have retreated underground to form their own colonies.

                ‘These rejects, these sad malformations of our perfect community, continue to thrive, and word has it, even _breed_ within their subterranean world, creating even an even more malformed generation of unstable and dangerous mutants. I have made efforts over the past few years to seek out their stronghold and decrease their numbers, but even my best efforts have been somewhat futile. It is not a job that any one man can accomplish. I need a team of talent individuals, such as yourselves, to take care of this plague on our people.”

                “You’re talking about genocide.” John muttered. “You want us to wipe these poor fuckers off the map; why? Because they don’t meet your standards of mutant perfection?”

                Sinister looked at him coldly. “What other motivation would you require, Mr. Greycrow? I doubt it’s an any more complex request than say your orders to eradicate any possible Viet Kong informants within that little village? So many dead civilians, Scalphunter.”

                Archlight moved beside the man, glaring at Sinister; “I know these mutants you’re talking about; the Morlocks. Rumors are that there’s more than three major colonies, the biggest in New York somewhere. But no one’s ever been able to find their tunnels…there’s traps, things to disorient you, make you lose your memory entirely. How do you expect us to find them?”

                The Scientist grinned; “That part I have taken care of. The job you are concerned with is what to do when you arrive. I want them _wiped out._ Not a solitary survivor. Is that quite clear?”

                “Ain’t a baby killer.” Scalphunter muttered.

                “Don’t be so sentimental. These creatures are suffering, many can barely function doing the very basic of activities they are so crippled by their own mutations. You mustn’t think of this as murder, ladies and gentlemen. I am saving them from themselves; and indeed saving us all.”

                “What kind of money are you willing to offer?” Vertigo quipped then, her white hair hanging raggedly over her green body suit. “It’s gonna have to be a lot more than our usual fee.”

                “Of course.”

                “I want triple the usual pay,” Scrambler spoke up hurriedly. “Not to mention our relocation expenses covered.” The others looked at the smaller man, who sneered at them. “What? You think I’m stupid? I ain’t staying around after this shit goes down, no sir. The X-Men will be all over this shit, I heard that one with the claws don’t play as nice as some of the others…”

                Scalphunter glared at him to shut him up and looked back at Essex. “I want to know how LeBeau and Creed factor in.”

                “Sabertooth, of course, will be joining you. I’m sure you will all be quiet glad to have him in the thick of things, as you’ve all seen his work before.”

                There was a hushed murmur of agreement here, though some sounded relieved while others seemed more apprehensive. Greycrow leaned closer to Sinister. “LeBeau will never agree to this. What are you gonna have him do, Charm his way in there so we can all walk in and start slaughtering them while they stare at his pecs?”

                “Gambit’s duties are not your concern.”

                “You ain’t giving that pretty boy a share of our money!” Scrambler spat then, pushing forward. “No fucking way! We’ll do all the work, and he’ll just stand there, and make the same cash? I don’t fuckin’ think so.”

                John grabbed his face and pushed him back, making him fall against Riptide, who side-stepped the little man with a look of disgust on his face, smoothing out the wrinkles in his suit pants.

                “Leave the Morlocks to us; Essex. LeBeau can be your man on the surface, in case those X-Men _do_ show up. You wanted him to bring the one back anyway.”

                “An admirable suggestion, duly noted.” The grey-skinned telepath sniffed. “Now, if there are no more questions, I will consider us all in agreement on the matter. You will be leaving for New York in three days. I suggest you use the time wisely to prepare yourselves.”

                He turned and ascended the stairs again, gliding down the darkened corridor to the more industrial rooms beyond, where Hans was waiting for him.

                “They agreed?”

                “Of course,” his lover replied, “there was never much doubt in my mind that they would; though it will be at triple their usual price. But I suppose it shall all be worth it.”

                “Indeed,” Hans nodded. “I do hope you won’t object if I accompany them, my dearest. I would dearly like to collect samples while they’re fresh.”

                Sinister sighed; “I appreciate your enthusiasm for our work, dearest, but it is your _experiments_ which have made this all necessary.”

                Dark Beast grinned; “You haven’t any proof of that, my dear Nathaniel. Now, let us retire to our rooms. You look tense, and if my watch is correct, we have thirty minutes before your next appointment.” He brushed back the man’s long, inky black hair to graze his teeth along his neck, earning a little shiver from his partner. “I know how very frustrated you’ve been since Gambit has been escaping Creed. If you need release, I’m more than happy to oblige…”

                Sinister grinned, dragging the larger beastly man in close by the collar of his lab coat. “Then let’s not waste any more time, dearest.”

 

**


	2. Chapter 2

 

                Remy was alone in the cavernous white-walled room, pacing as he awaited the other arrivals for their weekly “exercise”. He was restless, adrenaline and his unique energy humming through his veins and muscles, keeping him tight and on edge.

                Over the last few months he’d been subjected to a simulation a week, each testing his ability to maintain his control over his Charm under extreme duress. After the cabin simulation, Remy didn’t know that he would be able to deal with working with Victor Creed on a regular basis.

                But he had a bigger goal now; more than just survival, more than just keeping himself in Sinister’s favor to avoid punishment. If he continued to improve, if he could finally master his powers entirely; he’d be allowed back out into the world, where Logan was still searching for him.

                The thought of being once more in Wolverine’s arms, the only place he’d felt safe and loved since that long ago day he’d left his home, was enough to sharpen Remy’s concentration to a razor’s edge. His progress was shocking, not only to Sinister and Victor, but to himself. He never dreamed he would have as much control as he now did.

                For the first time since his days with the Thieves Guild, Remy felt like he was the master of his own fate. It was a feeling Sinister had tried desperately to tear out of him by the roots; but he hadn’t expected Remy to find Wolverine, and thus find his own self-worth again.

                The crushing weight over his heart had begun to lift and he felt light on his feet…freedom was so close now.

                He heard the door open and turned to see Victor come skulking in, looking bristled and out of sorts. Remy paused his practice to lean on his staff lazily. “You look like you got yer tail caught in de door, homme,” he called jovially, though he felt anything but amicable towards the feral these days. “Suppose’n you got an ear full for not keepin’ yer rabid little chew toy under control. If he _ever_ comes near me again, Creed, I won’t be responsible for—“

                He realized that Victor wasn’t even looking at him, seeming to have no heard him at all. Remy frowned and then whistled shrilly, making the blonde wince and whip his head in his direction. “Yo, I’m talkin’ to _you_ , homme! What’s de matter? You look spooked.”

                “Trust me, ya don’t wanna know.” Sabertooth muttered just as the door opened again and Sinister appeared. The man seemed faintly flushed and flustered, straightening his collar and tie and his cuffs.

                “Forgive my lateness gentlemen,” he panted, “I do hope you haven’t been waiting long?”

                “Not at all,” Remy mumbled, glancing from Sinister to Sabertooth, who flashed him a look of disgust, which made Remy cringe, realizing Victor must have gotten an eyeful of something unsavory.

                “Places, everyone!” Sinister called, ducking inside the observation booth.

                _“Are you ready to begin, Remy?”_ his voice asked then telepathically. Gambit grinned, looking up at Victor from across the wide empty space.

                “Laissez le bon temp rouler, mes amis!”

 

                The lights flickered, then flashed, then dimmed.

                Gambit found himself standing backstage, behind a thick red velvet curtain, with stage hands bustling in the background behind him and people calling commands in hushed voices. He noticed that his clothing had changed from his combat gear and trench to a long black coat, satin suit pants, white shirt, vest and bright red tie. It was all a little too showy, not to mention _fitted_ to be regular formal wear. He peered through the crack in the velvet curtains and looked out across a darkened sea of tables and booths filled with people, most of whom were watching the stage eagerly.

                Waiters served guests dressed like Chip and Dale boys, and the clientele was largely male, though there were a few women in the audience. A stage hand came rushing up to him then; “Ready to go on in twenty seconds, Mr. LeBeau.”

                “Right,” Remy mumbled absently. “And what is it I’m supposed to be doing exactly?”

                The other man blinked at him through his thick coke-bottle glasses, looking like he might actually faint. “Dancing sir…you dance.”

                Gambit sighed. “Of course I do.”

                _“How long have you been holding on to dis little fantasy?”_ he grumbled inwardly, knowing Sinister could hear his thoughts. He took a step back from the curtain, flexing his fingers and stretching; “Would it be silly of me to assume dat dis dance is on de…erotic side?”

                “Sir?”

                “Do my clothes come off?”

                The stage hand grinned; “Yes sir! And I’ve made sure your pants won’t snag this time, just like the boss ordered. Will you be wearing any shoes for this set sir, or just—“

                “Run along, cher, I got dis.”

                The stage hand nodded and scampered away into the shadows.

                _“Do you understand the scenario, Remy?”_

                “Let me guess, Creed is de in de big plush VIP booth I saw at the back of the de room; and my job is to keep him dere, even though I’m going to be strippin’ down to my skivvies?”

                Sinister said nothing, but Remy could actually feel his frustration burning from somewhere unseen. Knowing that his oppressor was displeased was just the boost he needed.

                Music kicked on, something jazzy and sultry that reminded him of home. The curtain opened and the spot light hit him. There came a series of whistles and cat calls, and Remy smiled as he drew in a steadying breathe and relaxed.

                As soon as his eyes began to adjust to bright hot light that poured down on him, he spotted Creed at the far center of the room, watching him from a lonely booth with bright gold eyes, sipping bourbon from his glass.

                Remy quickly found himself at ease with the music, letting the movements come naturally. This was not the first time he had done a strip-tease after all. He thought of happier days, nearly lost in the mists of his memory, of by-gone lovers who loved to be teased and entertained in this manner in the privacy of their large plantation bedroom.

                His Charm was flowing out of him like breeze off the Mississippi, and soon the entire room was completely enrapt and entranced by his every movement, and he wasn’t even out of his pants yet. He exuded mystery, sex, and light-heartedness, making him utterly irresistible to his hungry audience.

                But unlike his New Orleans scenario, Remy was completely in command of its effects; leaving those exposed in a state of adoring euphoria, rather than rampant sexual aggression. His eyes swept back and forth across the room as he danced, slowly working himself out of his clothes, but his gaze would always come back to Creed.

                Amazingly, the large feral was still in his seat. In fact, the man still had his whisky glass in hand; poised to drink, yet his attention was so focused on Gambit, that he seemed to have forgotten about it entirely.

                _“Pace yourself, Remy…you have nearly 50 minutes left…”_

                Gambit grinned, pushing away Sinister’s thoughts and began loosening his tie. He twisted the bright red silk around his hand and tugged it free, dropping it to the floor of the stage he started off the edge, sauntering down the small staircase onto the show floor beyond, eyes set on Creed as he continued to move in time with the music, creating a hypnotic motion with his body in addition to the ever tightening snare of his Charm.

                Other patrons cooed and called to him as he passed, many attempting to reach out and draw his attention by waving thick wads of bills at him, others enticing with jewels and champagne and whatever they readily had to offer up.

                Remy gave them all flirtatious smiles and blew fond kisses, letting them brush his skin, or get a glimpse of what was hiding just underneath the close hem of those satin pants, but never lingering long. His attention always returned to Creed, who was still observing his every move with rapt enthusiasm.

                By the time Remy reached the VIP table, he was only wearing the suit pants, his coat, shirt, vest and tie all leaving a trail behind him across the show floor.

                Creed was dressed in a black tuxedo and tie, his usual wild gold mane drawn back in a neat ponytail. He looked almost refined, Remy thought, as he maneuvered up to the table and neatly seated himself on the top of it.

                “Enjoying the show, big boy?” he purred, grinning at him slyly as he spread his legs in front of him, giving Victor a very good idea of what was underneath the satin, although it certainly wasn’t the first time he’d seen it.

                The blonde man stared at him with those golden hunter’s eyes, completely under Remy’s spell, lusting and ready to pounce but waiting permission from the object of his desire. “You know, maybe it’s de devil in me, but I have to say I kind of like you dis way,” Remy mumbled to him, stroking his cheek as Victor nervously put his hands around him, cupping his hips, fingers itching to go lower or squeeze, but hesitating.

                The music ended and the audience clapped and howled behind them, but time wasn’t up. The manager, a man who looked suspiciously like Sinister himself approached the two. “Are you enjoying your evening, Mr. Creed?”

                “Very much,” Victor answered, still staring up at Remy.

                “Could I interest you in a _private_ performance?”

                Here Gambit tensed, glaring at the newcomer, who only smiled at him pleasantly. “I do not know we have _time_ for dat,” he muttered.

                “Exactly thirty eight minutes. What do you say, sir?”

                Victor nodded eagerly, still staring adoringly up at Gambit as though he were madly in love with him. Remy nervously licked his lips and then stroked Victor’s hair, “But of course…whatever you need, mon amour.”

                He glared at Sinister again as the man reached up and tugged a little golden cord from the wall behind the booth, immediately surrounding the wide table in the darkness of its own privacy curtain. The world outside fell away and Remy could only faintly hear music playing from beyond.

                Victor sat back in his seat, rubbing his thigh suggestively, hoping that Remy would take the initiative. “Don’t worry, baby…I’ll play nice. Yer a sweet thing…don’t wanna hurt ya.”

                “Dat’s good, cher.” Remy nodded, sliding off the table and climbing into Victor’s lap, straddling the powerful man’s body anxiously. “You too nice a man for dis sorta place,” he mumbled, trying to keep the fantasy going as he toyed with Victor’s tie, loosening the long black fabric until he could get at the first button of his shirt, which he opened slowly. “You didn’t come just to see moi, did you?” he teased.

                So far it was the longest he’d been able to maintain his hold on Creed in such close proximity. He felt the drain of it of course, feeling himself starting to weaken, if only a little. Under the veil of his Charm’s influence, his Empathy could feel Creed’s other muffled emotions; the lust, the growing frustration and the rage at being overpowered by a man he clearly thought inferior.

                It was that emotion which spurned Gambit to push his luck further, leaning up into Creed as he undid his shirt buttons with agonizing slowness, and stealing a soft kiss from his lips. Victor moaned softly, and Gambit felt his thighs twitch, his erection growing warmer against the confines of his pants.

                “Private show…you know how much de charge for dat,” he mused thoughtfully, feeling Victor run his thick hands lightly up and down his back and this thighs, wanting more but not daring. “You must really like me.”

                “You’re my favorite, baby.”

                “Am I?” Remy giggled, “You’re sweet.”

                Creed reached around him and fumbled for the bottle of bourbon and poured Remy a drink, which Gambit accepted, tossing it back in three long swallows. Victor stared raptly at the way the man’s Adam’s Apple bobbed in his long neck and moaned quietly. “You’re so damn beautiful.”

                Remy stared at his clouded eyes, feeling a twinge of guilt that his power could do this to another person. It felt wrong, it felt like what Sinister did to those who resisted him. Gambit promised himself that he would never use his power this way, on anyone, unless there was no other choice. People didn’t deserve to be toyed with that way…maybe not even Creed.

                His focus was slipping, just a little, feeling himself start to wear out. He needed to ease back, just a little, or he would burn out too quickly and all hell would break loose. It was risky, but he had to chance it. Victor had been getting less and less physical with him during these trials…maybe giving in a little would let him finish without too much strain.

                The moment he did of course, Creed pulled him in more tightly, kissing him hungrily and Remy let him, allowing the man to hold him and caress him, though he never allowed Creed to touch him anywhere more intimate. “Take these off,” the feral muttered, his palm stuttering down Remy’s thigh, claws snagging the fabric lightly and beginning to tear the seams. “Please, darlin’, Iet me make ya feel good.”

                “ _Darlin’.”_ It was the way he said it, with that faint old fashioned twang that made Remy’s heartache and sent the bright image of Logan to the forefront of his mind. The memory of the man was so bright, so vivid and so sudden that it nearly took the breath from his lungs.

                Creed was lapping at his throat, pulling him in closer, caressing his ass now, mewling for attention. Remy clenched his jaw, drawing in a breath and then looked down at the blonde, cupping his face between his face

                “Oh mon ami, dat’s just de problem I’m afraid…” he mumbled, kissing Victor’s cheek before leaning in and whispering; “You can no longer _afford_ me.”

                He slid out of his grasp before Sabertooth registered what was happening, bending down and collecting his shirt, which he hurriedly threw on, pushing his way out of the thick curtain and back into the now empty show room.

                Victor came stumbling out behind him. “What? Where do you think you’re--!”

                Remy whirled. “STAY!” he commanded, eyes flaring and Creed found himself actually obeying, though it was clear he was fighting against it.

                “You…you can’t just…you can’t just walk away…I’ll be good to ya, you know I will. But you better _listen._ ”

                “Oh no, pussy cat, I am _done_ listening to anybody.” The Cajun retorted. His eyes fell on the movement from the only remaining man in the simulation, the “manager” who was actually Essex.

                “Is there a problem here, gentlemen?”

                “Not at all!” Remy grinned, still leisurely collecting his things from the floor, along with the hefty billfolds of money. “I’m just cashin’ out early tonight.”

                “You can’t do that I’m afraid, Mr. LeBeau. This gentlemen has _paid_ for your time.”

                “And I’ve given him all I have to spare.” Remy pointed to the clock on the wall, which was about to hit the hour. “It’s been a pleasurable evening, gents, but I must bid you au dieu!” He took a little bow, just as Creed was about to lunge at him, then righted himself, flipped backwards, once, twice, three times before landing upon the stage, just as the lights began to flicker.

                “No! NO! You get back here!”

                But a moment later the show room and stage had vanished, and they were standing in the empty room again.

                Victor charged him, finally free of his influence, but Remy was ready, retracting his staff and clotheslining the man with it, sending him flat on his back on the floor, moaning as Remy pressed the heel of his boot to his chest, grinning like a Cheshire.

                “This ain’t over, LeBeau!”

                “Oh non, mon ami! I really t’ink it is!” he darted away before Creed could make another grab at him and went dashing towards the lift, not even waiting for it to reach the upper floor before jumping off and sprinting towards the door, where Greycrow was waiting as usual.

                Victor didn’t even try to chase him this time, though he was seething. The lingering effects of Remy’s influence left him feeling fuzzy and groggy, and uncomfortably aroused. As much as he hated it, he had to admit that the Cajun really was a force to be reckoned with.

                “What the _hell_ was that?!” Sinister barked from above, the unusual use of vulgarity and the shrill edge to his normally composed, elegant voice making Creed blink in surprise as he turned towards him. “You let him just…just… _walk away_?! Go after him!”

                The feral snorted and rolled his shoulders. “What’s the point?” he rumbled, glowering at the smaller man. “Unless you’re fed up with games and want me to really lay into him…” He bared his teeth hungrily, “Let me have him Sinister, let me sink my teeth into ‘im!”

                The diamond point on the man’s forehead illuminated once more and Victor was forced to his knees, hands seemingly cemented to the floor and he howled in rage, but found himself unable to move. Essex paced away from him, agitated, furious.

                “He’s gotten much more powerful…too powerful. I can’t let this go on…”

                “I thought you wanted him to reach his fucking potential?” Victor quipped from below. Essex sneered at him.

                “You still don’t understand what he _is_ do you, you simple-minded beast? His potential energy is great enough that left unchecked, he could decimate a continent with a single release of it. His Charm could bring in line the leaders of the World and have them begging for the slightest bit of his attention, launching nuclear war heads out of jealousy and hopes to impress him. Remy LeBeau is a dangerous man. With the right guidance and conditioning…he could be a God among Mutants.”

                Creed snorted; “The Cajun? Yer kidding….”

                “Do you _like_ being his personal pussy cat?” the black haired man sneered. “He’s gotten too confident. And if you no longer frighten him, Sabertooth, with all that you could do to him…it’s only a matter of time before he brazenly tries to turn on me as well.”

                “So,” Victor grunted from the floor. “Just use yer weird mind powers on ‘im.”

                And here Sinister looked even more frustrated, his fists clenching. “I…can’t. The static around his mind is too great for me to penetrate now, not without damaging us both. Physical threats with telekinesis aren’t going to do the trick either.”

                “Sounds like yer fucked.”

                Essex grabbed him by the hair, yanking his head to look him in the eye. “We’re going to _fix_ this, Creed, you and I. I’ve got to break him down…start all over again.”

                “And how are you going to do that? Yer little simulations don’t scare him anymore, I can’t even get close to him these days before he turns that fuckin’ stuff on me and I go all warm and fuzzy…makes me wanna puke.”

                “I’ll think of something. You just be prepared for when I call upon you Creed…and you had better not disappoint me.”

                “Right….cause yer blue balls are beginning to show.”

                He felt Sinister’s hold release and he exhaled sharply, shaking the numbness from his hands as he stood, growling and rubbing his wrists. “Are we done here?”

                “Yes…now get out of my sight.”

                “Gladly.”

 

**

                Gambit was feeling better than he had in months, practically high from his victory. His escape from this place was so close he could almost reach out and take it…but he held back. He couldn’t play his hand too soon. After that performance, Sinister would surely realize he was ready to take on bigger jobs than Creed, and none were to be had here. He’d have no choice but to send Remy out.

                He couldn’t wait to tell John and have a drink to celebrate.

                As he walked, all but humming to himself, he heard a sudden sound that caught his attention and made him turn back. The noise sounded muffled…pained…

                “Hello? Someone dere?”

                No answer came, but a second later there was gasp, followed by a faint moan and sounds of muffled struggle, and voice that sounded familiar. Remy nervously followed the sounds back to a side door along the corridor, which hadn’t closed completely.

                He peered through the faint crack, and saw a blur of blue and white, crouched over something, which he seemed to be swaying against, panting heavily. There was another moan, and Remy recognized the sound, which was very similar to his own voice.

                He pushed the door open just a bit further, and saw to his horror that Dark Beast was standing at the edge of an operating table, to which none other than Remy’s own feral clone was strapped, thrusting himself between the smaller man’s naked and bound together thighs.

                On the table, Timmy shivered and moaned, but his eyes were closed, and his hands were limp, and his feet just dangled together over McCoy’s shoulder; there didn’t seem to be any fight in him at all. He still seemed to respond, at least vaguely to what was being done to him, in whimpers and moans, though he kept trying to speak, words only coming out in broken, muffled slurs…

                “Mmm…nnh…V-Victor…you’re not….you’re… _not_ …!”

                Hans scrapped a thick paw down along his torso until his hand covered the whimpering man’s mouth, muffling the sound, “Hush...ha…mmm…never you mind about your Victor. When you wake up, this will all be nothing more than a dream…ha! Oh, oh yes…mmm…” Hans muttered, then shifted slightly, driving a bit harder, faster until he gripped the side of the table tightly and growled low, finishing and covering Timmy’s naked torso with the results.

                His senses picked on something then, a strange heavy heat within the room that made him feel suddenly shaky and tingly, causing blood to rush throughout his system and become extremely aware of every sensitive part of his body. He felt the sudden urge to touch himself, a little moan of his own escaping his lips before he could stop himself. The shock of the sound made him slap a hand over his mouth and back away from the door, but it was too late.

                “Mr. LeBeau,” Hans’s voice snarled at him, thick and thready as he recovered, “Don’t lurk at the door…come _in_.”

                Remy kept his hand over his mouth, wincing as he felt that strange rush of heat through his senses again, and found himself stepping further inside the room despite his better judgement, eyes nervously flickering from the beast to the helpless man beneath him.

                “Is he… _drugged_?” Remy gasped, looking at Timmy’s glassy, unfocused gaze beneath his heavy lids.

                “Oh yes, the little viper is far too frisky to deal with otherwise. I wouldn’t want to risk damaging him too severely.” The scientist answered as he stepped away from the clone, still quiet naked and exposed, and grabbed several thick hand towels from the table-side tray, which he used begin cleaning and scrubbing Timmy’s skin.

                Gambit did his best not to stare at the exposed man, nor at the twisted mirror version of himself, which was lying helpless beneath him, sighing and jolting as the man scrubbed his sensitive skin clean. Remy covered his nose now too, trying to stem off the strange smell that was making him feel hot and dizzy. “What de hell _is_ dat?”

                “Pheromones, my lad! One of my little quirks, I can manipulate them with ease, drawing people to me, much the way your _Charm_ works for you. Only much more pure, much more primal.” He scowled darkly at Remy, no doubt smelling that the man had not gone unaffected. “It makes your counterpart here much more enjoyable, considering he’s heavily sedated. See how sensitive he is to even the slightest touch?”

                Remy felt sick, realizing the man must be doing this on a rather regular basis. “Creed finds out what you’re doing here…he’s gonna rip yer big blue head off. And for once, I’d be on his side in de matter.”

                “You’re quite right,” Hans answered, rubbing Timmy’s shaking skin with something that looked like sanitizer fluid before stepping aside and looking at Remy directly. “But you’re not going to say a word to him….are you, Mr. LeBeau?”

                “Why shouldn’t I--?”

                He looked back, only to find that Hans was no longer at the edge of the table, but right in front of him, suddenly shoving him back against the wall with nowhere to go, big arms pinned on either side of Remy’s lean figure.

                He cringed away from the intensity of the man’s eyes, which were not gold or amber like Victor’s, but blazing yellow, sharp and glinting. He growled territorially and Remy shuddered, hearing the mutant’s claws scrape down the wall on either side of his head and shoulders.

                “You are such a _nuisance_ ,” Hans spat, glaring at him. “I almost regret the day that Nathaniel found you. Thank whatever Gods you believe in that he favors you so; if I had my way, you would have been used up and picked clean by now; the remains discarded for the buzzards.”

                “You paint quite de picture, homme…”

                “If you breathe so much as a whisper of this to Mr. Creed…it’ll be _you_ on the slab next time, and I shan’t be kind enough to sedate you beforehand.” He growled and brushed his jaws along Remy’s neck, breathing in the man’s fear scent and feeling him shiver. “Make no mistake, Gambit, though I may be a feral mutant, I am _not_ Sabertooth. I will not indulge your little games, nor take my time and make you squirm….I will come at you with unyielding, merciless force, and I will hurt you in every way I can. And then I’ll tear out your throat with my teeth, cut out your heart and gift wrap it as a present for Sinister.”

                There was a crackling sound and Remy produced a glowing card from his pocket, holding it between himself and McCoy as a warning. “Dats all well and good,” he muttered, “but we both know if you so much lay one of dose claws on me too roughly, your pal Sinister will be _unhappy._ So you’d better back off…”

                Hans snarled at him, but reluctantly drew away as Remy allowed the card to turn to ash in his hand, stepping free of the large furry feral, who leered at him, silently seething . “De simulation was over fifteen minutes ago, you’d better put ‘im back before Creed goes looking…or I won’t have to tell him a thing.”

 

**


	3. Chapter 3

 

                Victor made his way back to the enclosure, entering like an angry storm cloud, the lingering effects of Remy’s Charm still buzzing in his system, leaving him aroused and unsatisfied, and Sinister’s words chasing themselves around in his head.

                The idea of breaking Remy down; starting from scratch, as Sinister had said, was intriguing to him. Though how it could be accomplished, he wasn’t sure. He just knew he wanted to be there when it happened. He’d teach that cocky little shrimp eater that he was someone to fear, someone to _respect_. It’d be _LeBeau_ cowering, curled at his feet, the way the world intended; instead of the Cajun reducing him to a purring, mewling house pet, dependent on his master’s _permission_ …

                “Timmy!” he bellowed as soon as he entered the enclosure, shrugging out of his clothes and stripping down to just his jeans, starting off at trot through the tall grass. “Timmy! Where are ya, shrimp!? I got an itch that needs scratchin’….”

                When he caught no sight of movement from his pack mate among the hills or trees, he made his way down to their den. Inside, he found Timmy sprawled on his side on the grass mat, just starting to wake from a mid-day nap.

                Victor stalked up to him and dropped down, dragging the smaller man against him and hungrily setting his lips and teeth against his long tan neck, wrapping his hands around the smaller man’s body, shoving his thick palm down the front of Timmy’s shorts to grip him roughly.

                “Victor…?” Timmy moaned, voice thick and slow. He gasped and squirmed as Creed stroked him, desperate for fulfillment, as he was already grinding heavily against his mate’s thigh. Victor was pleased, if not slightly surprise, to see that his mate was already somewhat aroused, already firm and throbbing faintly in his hand.

                Creed pushed him up on his knees, pulling down his shorts, slicking up his fingers before roughly pushing them inside the smaller man, doing his best to prep him quickly. Timmy moaned in response, face down on the mat, a shaky feeling of unsteadiness in his limbs. “You need more, Kitty?” he mumbled.

                Victor figured he was still half asleep and ignored the comment, positioning himself behind the man and dragging his hips back as he pushed forward roughly. Timmy cried out at the rough intrusion, knees shaking, but Creed was already lost in the quick driving rhythm he’d created, driving into the shaking clone’s body over and over again.

                Timmy climaxed after only a few moments of this, rasping Victor’s name as he all but melted into the floor. Victor held him in place and kept driving into him until he brought himself over the edge, making sure he emptied himself completely before drawing out of his mate.

                Creed gave his ass a little slap as he flopped over and curled on top of his Beta, licking his neck affectionately and nipping his earlobe; “Well, that was a bit too easy…hardly what I was hoping for. What’s the matter with you, you lazy little brat? You know I like a little push back when I come home, all riled up from LeBeau.”

                Timmy looked up at him, squinting slightly in confusion. “I’m sorry…just so tired…you wore me out from earlier, Kitty.”

                Creed blinked down at him and noticed how heavy his eyes were and that they still seemed somewhat glassy, unfocused. Moreover, he noticed that his mate had strange no-smell to him, like he had been recently washed or disinfected with something.

                The Alpha quickly began looking over his mate’s body, searching for puncture marks, a sudden fear in his chest. Sure enough, he found one just below Timmy’s left ear. He sniffed the small red wound and growled low. Timmy whimpered, not sure what he had done to displease his Alpha, but Victor cuddled him close, possessively and nuzzled him.

                “What happened while I was gone?” he asked.

                The clone furrowed his brow, pressing his memory, which was no easy thing. But the more he sought an answer, the foggier things became. “Did you go to sleep after I left?” Victor asked.

                Timmy guessed that this must be true, since Creed had awoken him just now…but he couldn’t remember returning to the den after Victor had left. He remembered very little in fact, after watching Victor leave the sanctuary, except that he had been watching him from a tree branch….after that, everything was confusing and muddled.

                “I…I think so…not sure when I went to sleep. Don’t remember feeling tired.” He racked his brain for some answer, some clarity through the fog, but all that came were more questions and muddled feelings.

                Victor rose then, angry scowl on his face, and made for the entrance of the cave, suspecting foul play on behalf of one of his so-called benefactors. But he didn’t get far before Timmy rushed him, grabbing his arm and tugging him back. Victor instinctively tried to shrug him off, but the smaller man was digging his nails into his skin.

                “Don’t go! Please…bad things happen when you’re not here.”

                Creed gave him a hard questioning look; “What?”

                “Whenever you leave to go chase Gambit, something…something happens. I don’t know what, but I feel like I’m being watched…and then I loose time…or I sleep and have dreams of someone…not you…touching me.”

                The experience was clearly disturbing to the young man, who’s mind was already so fractured and full of broken bits of memory that it was difficult for him to string together reality from fever dream.

                Victor’s expression didn’t lift, but he drew Timmy in briefly, looking at him seriously. “You stay here, if you get a whiff of _anyone_ coming near this place who isn’t me, you hide. And if you can’t hide…than you fight. This won’t take long.”

                His Beta nodded obediently and reluctantly released Creed’s arm, receding back into the darkness of the cave, huddling down on the mat to wait. Victor stalked out of his den and made for the wall, quickly disengaging the barrier and striding out into the corridor once more. Anything that had been lingering near the walk-way skittered for cover as he past, no doubt sensing his rage.

                Creed had a suspect in mind; the only one who would possess not only the knowledge , but the deviousness to try this kind of stunt with _his_ Beta. He had to admit that McCoy had covered his tracks well…he obviously counted on Victor’s constant distraction after dealing with LeBeau, and Timmy’s somewhat fragile memory to keep himself from being suspected.

                But he’d fucked up this time. Now Victor was going to make sure he _suffered_ for it.

                In the old days, he would have gone after Hans directly. It was still what his instincts were screaming at him to do; everything was settled face to face, man to man. Everything was personal.

                But now the rules had changed, and Creed had little choice but to adapt. Dark Beast was much more cunning than him; he had to admit. The Mutant was endowed with a particular wicked streak that Creed didn’t come across often except within the deepest circles of villainy. Creed hardly considered himself on par with masterminds like Magneto, the Red Skull, HYDRA, or other headliners in the supervillain underworld. He was a small-picture sort of man, not interested in world domination, but in his own self -satisfaction and gratification. Everyone else could just fuck off.

                To deal with a scheming big-picture sort of villain like Dark Beast, he needed someone who had equal weight in that classification. Namely Sinister himself. The mad scientist was far from compassionate, but Creed still had leverage on him. He would go to Essex and demand that he call off his big blue mangy cat, or he’d see to it that LeBeau would walk out of here a free man, never to return.

                And wouldn’t that just leave poor frustrated Sinister’s knickers in a bind?

                Once across the bridge that connected the Sanctuary tower to the manner house, he came thundering through the halls, watching Essex’s worker clones scatter before him, obviously sensing his murderous intent.

                He was rounding the hall, moving into the residential area of the house beyond the decaying industrial rooms that housed Sinister’s unknown experiments, only to meet McCoy himself as he stepped out of a room, which apparently had been converted into an operating room. Beside him stood Greycrow, the two discussing something in a quick, hushed manner. Both looked up as he approached, one smiling, the other scowling.

                “What’s the rush, Mr. Creed?” the grey-blue mutant asked, with a smug grin on his face. Sabertooth turned to glare at him, flaring his nostrils as his golden eyes narrowed coldly at the source of his ire. Maybe this situation called for a one on one confrontation after all…

                “Hit the bricks, Greycrow. I got business with this one.”

                “I don’t take orders from you,” Scalphunter retorted, then cocked his head thoughtfully, “I heard Gambit wiped the floor with you during the simulation today; you never even got a taste of him. How does that feel, Creed, knowing its so easy for him now?”

                “Yes, Mr. Creed. How does it feel to be rendered well… _completely_ useless?” Hans asked.

                His fangs were out, so were his claws as he turned to fully face Hans, drawing himself up to his full height, looking quite menacing; “You dirty little fucker…you thought I wouldn’t find out what you were doing to him behind my back? He’s _my_ Beta…you got no claim to him.”

                Hans simply continued to look at him blithely with that heinous smirk on his face; “I thought I had made it clear that you are _far_ from in charge around here, Mr. Creed. You think the fact that you’ve turned one of my experiments into your personal dancing monkey makes any difference to me? He’s mine to do with whatever I wish…just as you are now.”

                Creed snarled at him, looking ready to lunge. “You’ll lose more than fur if you mess with me this time, McCoy. I’ll tear ya to ribbons and feed the remains to Toad…he ain’t a picky eater from what I can tell.”

                “Your idle threats don’t intimidate me,” Hans answered, turning away from Creed and reaching for something off the lab table. Victor recognized it as the shock collar Essex had outfitted him with during their more intense session to keep him in line; though he hadn’t bothered with it over the last several weeks.

                The look in McCoy’s eyes as he picked it up told Victor _exactly_ what he intended to do with it and Creed froze, then started to back away.

                “Oh come here now, Mr. Creed, don’t be shy…”

                Victor turned to run, only to feel himself collide with a careless limb and go tumbling forward. He crashed into the floor, scraping across the aged, chipped tile, only to be pounced upon by Hans, who immediately fastened the collar around Victor’s neck.

                Sabertooth howled, tearing at the device and then at Hans, who grabbed him up all too easily and dragged him back towards the door, where Scalphunter stood, watching it all with a self-satisfied grin upon his face.

                “Payback is a bitch, Sabertooth.”

                “You die slowly, Greycrow!” Victor roared, his claws scraping along the tile flooring.

                The dark haired man grinned, stepping aside as McCoy finally dragged him back into the room. “Maybe so; but not today.”

                Victor howled again as he was dragged back into the room, the door slammed behind him. Hans wrestled with him to him until he managed to slam Creed up against the operating table, locking his hands into the adamantium restraints. Creed writhed and fumed, trying to break free, but even his super strength could not undo the binds.

                “ _Fucker!_ ”

Hans chuckled at his captive’s outrage, enjoying the man’s fury. “Something you need to get off your chest, Mr. Creed?”

                Victor narrowed his eyes at him; “I know what you did. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?”

                Hans looked at him placidly; “Oh _of course_ I expected you to find out; there just isn’t anything you can do about it, I’m afraid.”

                “Tearing off your head might be a start…”

                McCoy gave him a violent shock with the collar that made his whole body spasm for several seconds before relenting. “You’re never going to get that far, I’m afraid. Nathaniel hired you because you’re a wild animal, Creed. Primitive, vicious and simple. You were exactly what he needed to keep Gambit in line, as well as those other miscreants…but now you’ve gotten soft; lazy… _useless._ You don’t deserve the title of Alpha.”

                Sabertooth writhed again, still trying to break free, though he knew it was useless. Hans was too close, and Creed didn’t like at all the look in his eyes. “I’m going to bring you in line, Creed. And the only way to do that with a creature such as yourself is to _break_ you.”

                Creed felt a pinch of fear in his gut, but grinned all the same. “I’ve been around a _long_ time, and it ain’t been done.”

                “Yes, well…let’s test that theory, shall we?”

                Victor felt the air change then, and perceived a rise in McCoy’s body temperature, a change in his smell. It hit him like a Mac Truck; a heavy release of pheromones that rushed immediately to his head, making him suddenly dizzy and tense, bloody surging through his system as he became almost instantly aroused. He winced away from it, but there was no way to escape.

                “What the fuck is that?!” he rasped. “How are you doing that?!”

                “Another of my little _quirks._ ” Dark Beast answered, He moved closer, cupping the man between his legs and squeezing him roughly through the fabric of his jeans. Victor’s hips bucked wildly in response, desperate for attention, unable to control himself.

                “Power through domination and humiliation seems to be your forte; so I thought I would come down to your level; make it easier for you to understand exactly how our relationship is to be from now on.”

                “Fuck you!”

                “Well yes,” Dark Beast grinned, “but it’s much more than that. I want you working for _me_ , Creed. Your talents are wasted as a mere thug to keep Sinister’s pet project in line…you could be put to such better use. You _and_ S13.”

                Victor tried to resist the hand that kept stroking him, teasing and toying with him, but it was all too far out of his control now. His most baser instincts had taken over, and all he wanted was release. If he had to agree with Hans to get it…then so be it.

                “Hmm, you’re quite on edge already…it’s not as satisfying for you when it’s given readily is it?”

                Victor growled in response, but Hans knew he was right. “It’s why you keep going back to LeBeau, even when you have a willing mate who’s all too eager to please? You _need_ the satisfaction of conquering something, or defeating them, you feed off the violence, the fear…it’s who you are at your core. And I would know…it’s at my core as well.”

                He squeezed Creed hard, twisting him in his hand just to hear him shout, then leaned in and bit him painfully on the throat until he tasted blood. Victor thrashed and howled, but found himself pressing up against his attacker, still desperate for release. Hans shoved his thick hand down the front of his pants and gripped him hard, giving him a few quick, rough strokes before Creed shouted and spilled across his knuckles. Hans grinned and moved his hand away, licking himself clean then, undid the restraints, letting Creed slide to the floor.

                Victor’s first instinct was to bolt, but Hans activated the collar again, making the feral fall twitching to the floor, clawing at the device but unable to free himself. Hans let the shock go on for almost three whole minutes before relenting, leaving Victor shivering on the ground, the smell of burned skin tinging the thick air of the dark room. “Don’t think you’re _done_ here, Mr. Creed.”

                “High voltage isn’t it?” Hans asked, bending over him and lifting the man by his long blonde hair, looking at his glazed, dilated eyes. “Specifically formulated to deal a maximum amount of charge to deal with your healing factor.”

                “What do you want?”

                Hans grinned and nipped at his jaw, dragging him into a kneeling positon in front of him. “That’s such a broad question, my good man. But for the moment, let’s start with the basics.”

                Victor hissed as the man pressed his face against his thigh, obviously wanting Creed to pleasure him with his mouth. Despite the brutal hold on his scalp and his remaining arousal, the feral resisted. “I’ll bite it off…” he warned.

                Another painful shock rippled through him, the charge going even higher this time, aggravating the still fresh wounds on his throat, sending him into spasm again. “You do, and you’ll get more of the same. Now get to it. You’re _my_ Beta now, Creed. And I expect nothing but obedience.”

                Victor howled at the idea, sinking his claws into Han’s thick thighs until blood rushed under his finger tips and snarled up at the man with teeth bared; “I’m _not_ yer _Beta._ No one marks me, and no one fucking _owns_ me, not even you!”

                He felt the influence of his enemy’s pheromones again, pressing harder this time, clouding his already addled senses, making him needier than before. But he tried to resist all the same. Hans stroked his hair, nudging him closer. “Be a good boy, Mr. Creed…and you will keep _your_ Beta, and the illusion of your status. Otherwise…I will take him in front of you, and he will know what a weak, helpless sham you really are.”

                Victor growled and dug his nails in deeper, but didn’t move away. He knew that he could fight this influence, even in his already weakened and compromised state. He could run now and never look back, never answer to Sinister or Dark Beast again, once again the Lone Wolf. But he couldn’t keep living that way; and he knew this now.

                Logan was gone…he didn’t know if he would ever get him back. Even if he did; it wouldn’t be enough. The world was changing, he needed a pack to stay strong. Alone he was vulnerable, but with Timmy…he could be more. He just had to weather this storm first.

                He said nothing, closing his eyes and bowing his head, taking Hans into his mouth in one quick motion, starting to suck and lick him roughly and hurriedly. McCoy sighed a little at contact and stroked his hair to praise him before taking a firmer grip, using it to control Victor’s movements. Creed was disgusted by the taste of the man, but he couldn’t stop himself. Despite having finished twice already he was still hard, and the pheromones were making him insane.

                McCoy was punishing, giving him almost no chance to rest his jaw or to breath, enjoying the way Creed squirmed and attempted to adapt to the punishing pace he set. The lack of air started to make him dizzy and he would start to slacken, only to be shocked back into action. Hans liked to see the pain on his face, to feel the way he twitched when it happened.

                In fact, he liked it so much, that he kept doing it, despite Victor’s compliance. Victor tried to break away, but Hans was teetering on the edge, about cum. “What’s it like on the other end of things?” he rasped, “Because I have to tell you—mmm—it feels wonderful from this perspective!”

He finished abruptly, howling and forcing his captive to take him all in until the last little quiver in his hips had passed. Victor pulled away then, looking up at the man before spitting it right back in his face.

Disgusted, Hans snarled and turned the switch of the collar onto maximum. Creed screamed, wrenching away, tearing at himself as the collar burned him so deeply he could feel it in his tendons and he fell over, writhing in agony.

The torture went on for a steady ten minutes. When he finally relented, Victor was still twitching on the floor, burned skin smoking, but was otherwise unresponsive. Hans leaned over him and felt his pulse, but there was none. The feral was dead. At least for the moment.

                Cursing he turned and cleaned himself up, feeling rather spiteful that Creed managed to resist him even under the most intense manipulations. There was a stubborn streak in the man that still needed to be broken; but for the moment, he had made some progress.

                He turned to leave then, stepping over Victor’s lifeless figure as he shut out the lights and stepped out the door. He knew Creed would recover shortly, but he had other places to be just then. As he strolled down the hallway, he did not see or hear Gambit approaching from the other end.

 

                Victor came back into awareness , not knowing how long he had been down. The pain of his injuries was already gone, but some of the numbness from the shocks remained. The damage done to his nervous system was still finishing it’s repairs, making his usual keen feral senses dull, but he caught a familiar scent that sparked his curiosity.

                He opened his eyes and found himself spread out on the floor of the operating room, with none other than Remy LeBeau bent over him, swabbing the extensive burns that formed a thick charred and raw ring around his neck and shoulders. The wounds were already closing, healing on their own, but Gambit seemed intent on cleaning them all the same.

                “Creed? Creed are you…alive?”

                Sabertooth’s unfocused, heavy-lidded eyes suddenly widened and his hand shot up and caught Remy’s wrist, holding it tightly as he growled. “What’er ye doin’, swamp rat?” he muttered, the sound of his own voice making his ears buzz.

                “You were…I _thought_ you were…I was trying to help.” Remy stammered. Creed blinked at him, trying to understand. It seemed like madness to him that after all he’d put LeBeau through in the past few months that the man would do anything to help him, much less actually _care_ about his fate.

                “Who did dis to you?”

                Victor grunted and swatted him away, rolling to his feet. Everything around him smelled like burned flesh and smoke, tainted further by the lingering scent of the other feral’s musk. He had a mind to vomit, thinking about the taste of the man in his mouth.

                “It ain’t any of yer fuckin’ concern.” He muttered, trying to take a step and then falling shakily against the table. He recalled having been electrocuted in this manner once before; only back then he’d been sent to the chair, and the prison board got a front row seat of his death and resurrection, right before he came through that two way glass and tore them all to shreds. Simpler times.

                Gambit was at his elbow, trying to support him; “You were _dead_ two minutes ago, you idiot! Let me help!”

                “Get off me!” Victor shoved him back. “I don’t need yer fuckin’ charity!” he barked. The Cajun caught himself as Creed sent him stumbling and stood for a moment, caught between frustration and indignation. Victor expected him to throw one of his cards at him, or make something else go all pink and explodey, but instead he just balled his fists at his sides.

                “Don’t you get it yet?” he asked, “You’re as much a prisoner here as I am. There’s no loyalty here, no friends, no allies. Sinister and Dark Beast? They’ll take whatever they can from you and leave you with nothing; when you’re usefulness is gone…so are you.”

                “I ain’t weak like you.”

                “It’s not about being weak or strong,” Gambit retorted. “Dese people are _evil_ , Creed! If you thought you were above dem, just because you’re your own breed of monster…you aren’t. Even a twisted bastard like you…doesn’t deserve dis.”

                Victor stood in front of him, leering down at him. He could feel the other man’s empathy reaching out to him, trying to make a connection, trying to find whatever there was beneath Victor’s heartless, narcissistic exterior. But there was nothing to grasp. Creed grabbed him and kissed him roughly until Gambit squirmed out of his grasp, wiping his mouth.

                “You’ve got a big, soft heart, Cajun. I can’t figure out how it is you’ve managed to keep it for so long. I woulda cut it out of you a long time ago, sweetheart. And you would have thanked me for it.”

                Remy’s face fell into dark lines and be backed away from Victor, moving towards the door. He paused for another moment, as if considering something, then thought better of it. “I guess it’s every man for himself den.”

                “That’s how the world is, LeBeau. Anybody telling you different…is selling something.”

 

***


	4. Chapter 4

 

               

                Gambit tossed and turned in his bed that night, unable to relax, constantly falling into a dream where he was hand in hand with Wolverine, running for a black tide that threatened to overtake them and swallow them whole. Or of having dinner in a fine restaurant with Victor, who was dressed in a tuxedo, who was reciting poetry, while casually carving up a bloody, still beating heart on the plate in front of him, which Remy came to realize was his own.

                Between these disturbing scenarios and the hazy grey fog of senselessness between, Remy got no rest at all, watching the artificial sunrise beyond the cracks of his draperies. Giving up the idea of rest at last, the Cajun pulled himself from his blankets and made for his private bath.

                He scrubbed himself in the usual rough manner, trying to shed himself the dirt he imagined rather than anything real on his skin. He never felt clean within these walls, just breathing the air here made him feel tainted. But he pushed those thoughts down; keeping his focus sharp. Nothing, not even the ominous depression of his gilded prison could steal the victory he had won yesterday. He knew Sinister was displeased with how easily he had defeated his little game, and how he refused to submit. But he had seen more than just frustration and anger in the man’s eyes; he’d also seen genuine fear.

                Remy was making powerful progress now; coming closer to being too strong for Sinister to hold. It was a feeling that had long been denied to him; the feeling of mastery over his own fate. He’d been a victim for so long, he nearly forgotten a time when he was strong and sure of himself. But it felt like those days were returning; he was becoming the man he should have been from the start. A man worthy of someone like Wolverine.

                He stepped from the shower and began to dry himself, only to suddenly realize he was not alone. He yelped in surprise as he glanced up at the foggy mirror and found another reflection inside it. He whirled, gripping the towel tight around his waist, to see Sinister himself standing in the crack of the doorway.

                “Forgive the intrusion,” he coed, not sorry at all of course, “I had hoped to catch your attention by knocking on the door, but you were quite far away just now, weren’t you?”

                Remy scowled at him, pushing his wet hair out of his face. “Suppose I was. What is it you want?” he muttered, grabbing his clothes and moving past the man out into the bedroom where the air was clearer and he was able to put more room between them.

                Essex frowned at his curtness, but pressed on; “I wanted to speak with you about yesterday’s session.” He began. “It was…quite an impressive display.”

                Gambit nodded, dressing himself as though the other man were not there. There was little modesty between them, and his brashness always unsettled the man, even though he’d seen Remy in this state too many times before. He liked Remy to shy away from him, to feel embarrassed by his natural vulnerable state. But Gambit was not feeling accommodating.

                “Isn’t dat what you wanted?” Remy asked, pulling on his black pants and a loose green t-shirt that bore the name of some old New Orleans establishment on it in faded lettering. “I’m stronger now, in control of my powers. Creed is not a challenge anymore. Maybe you should let him go…”

                Sinister smiled at him; “I think Victor would be sorry to hear you say that, Remy.”

                Gambit rolled his eyes; “I do not. But you didn’t come here just to congratulate me, M’Sieur…what is it dat you want?”

                Sinister bowed his head thoughtfully for a moment, stroking his beard pensively and then righted himself; “I came to tell you the good news, my boy. I’ll be sending Greycrow and the others off on a little errand in a few short days. I’m sure you would make a valuable addition to their ranks.”

                The auburn haired mutant nodded faintly, keeping his back turned to the man as he straightened his bedding, trying not to give away the surge of excitement that rippled through him. “Of course, if dats what you wish.”

                Sinister came behind him and gave his shoulders and affectionate squeeze, “You’ve _earned_ it, Remy. I couldn’t be more pleased with your success. To see you finally becoming the man I always envisioned…it gives me life. You know that don’t you?”

                Gambit nodded slowly, remaining still until he felt the other man move away from him. Then, licking his lip nervously, he asked; “And…what of de mission to collect Wolverine? When will dat take place?”

                “Oh, the sooner the better,” Essex replied, still smiling. “There is, however, one thing I need you to do before hand.”

                “Yes?”

                “One last exercise with Creed. You’re right, perhaps Victor _has_ outlived his usefulness in this manner, but, he remains useful to me in other ways. I would like to see you two working closely together in the future.”

                The ruby-eyed man did his best not to show his disdain for the idea. “What difference will one more simulation make?” he asked.

                “Well, I’ve been pitting you against Creed so long, it occurs to me that you may have forgotten how to deal with other threats. Call this a quick refresher course if you will. Upon your successful completion I will send John for you both immediately. Creed may prove useful to you in tracking your prize.”

                Remy inwardly cringed at the idea of Logan being a “prize”, but nodded. “Alright den, when can we start?”

                Sinister looked at him fondly, but Remy sensed a coldness beneath that smile that knew no end. Even if his empathy could not reach through Sinister’s telepathic barriers, he knew that the mutant was hiding something. “Come down to the Simulator as soon as you’ve finished here. I’ll see that Creed is ready to begin as well.”

 

 

                Ten minutes later, Remy was standing in front of the familiar cold grey doors of Sinister’s Simulator Room, anxiously waiting to step inside. Creed was already in, but Sinister was doing a few last minute “tweaks” to the system, and asked Remy to wait while he filled Sabertooth in on the new procedure.

                It felt like a trap.

                “He’s up to something,” John muttered behind him, picking his teeth with a toothpick as he watched Remy pace.

                “Of course he is.” Gambit answered. “But I can’t fold now. Too close to freedom, mon ami, too close to de light…he’s not going to scare me away from it now.” He looked back at his friend, “When dis is done, you and me, yeah, we’re getting out of here. Gonna make a beeline for New York, towards dat Institute Logan talked about, never gonna look back. You’re welcome to come wit me.”

                Greycrow gave him a rueful little smirk; “You think it’s that easy still, do ya?”

                “I t’ink you’re my friend, Johnnie…you better dan dis place…want somet’ing better for you.” The Cajun offered. “Of course, maybe you got plans to take off wit Philippa…she fancies you.”

                “I would imagine so, we’ve been screwin’ for awhile.”

                Remy laughed. “I’ll miss you. Truly I will.”

                The doors suddenly unlocked and Remy felt his stomach pinch, but he straightened his shoulders and held his head high. “Show time.”

                “Be careful, Cajun.”

                Remy stepped into the room, finding Creed in his usual spot just beyond the foot of the lift. Sinister was in the observation deck alone today; no sign of Hans. He guessed that meant the beast was off taking advantage of Creed’s pet again, but for now he had bigger things to worry about.

                He strode past Creed without looking at him; he had nothing to say to the man after their confrontation yesterday. Remy took his place at the opposite end of the room as usual and waited. “Ready, Gentlemen?” Sinister asked, using the speaker this time instead of his telepathy.

                Remy nodded, setting his jaw. One final test and he was free…bring it on.

                The lights flickered and flashed in their usual manner, and within moments, Gambit felt their dizzying effects pass over him, leaving him standing someplace…familiar.

                He was standing in the middle of a long shaded drive, great branches of oak, heavy-laden with Spanish Moss draped over his head, mingled with the smell of recent rain and mud and azalea bushes. It was dark, but still daylight, the day heavily overcast above the canopy of trees. Remy looked on in the distance at the great house that rose up in front of him, hardly daring to believe he was actually seeing it.

                The plantation house was just the way he remembered it with its wrap-around porch and white pillars, and heavy blue hurricane shudders that winged each tall window. He could even see that lantern that hung just above the front door, shining in the dark grey gloom that surrounded the stately home like a beacon. The LeBeau Plantation, home of his father and brother, as well as Tante Mattie, the woman who had arranged for his adoption by Jean-Luc, and only mother figure.

                Remy quickened his pace from a trot to a run, taken aback by the living memory of his home rising up in front of him. Creed and Sinister were quickly forgotten…until Remy drew closer to the front stairs beyond the drive…

                He saw dark stains on the front steps, which at first he had thought to be shadows. At first they appeared as nothing but tiny droplets, drying black specks. But then they grew and lengthened into smears and smudges and eventually little pools…and they were no longer black but deep, rusty crimson.

                The ornate glass of the front door was broken, and the swung faintly back and forth in the hot breeze, partially unhinged. The Cajun realized that the wood was splintered and slashed, as if rend by massive claws.

                Gambit stood for a moment there upon the threshold, feeling the blood drained out of his face, and the tips of his fingers suddenly turn cold and numb. No…no….no one could be this cruel.

                He inched forward, carefully pushing open the door as it groaned loudly the empty silence. The grand foyer beyond was in an equal state of ruin. Pictures from the walls had been torn down and now lay broken and ruined on the floor in halos of glass and splintered frames, the carpet had been torn up in places, and it was stained heavily with bloody foot prints. The white walls were marred with more claw marks, and smeared with blood.

                There was a body on the landing, moaning softly. Remy lurched forward upon hearing the sound and made for it, his knees hitting the stairs harshly as he dropped beside the blood soaked body, turning it over.

                “MON PERE!”

                Jean-Luc was slashed to ribbons, bleeding from what looked like a hundred slashes across his body; but he was still alive, if only just. The dark haired man looked up at his foster son with terror in his dying eyes, grasping Remy close with blood slick fingers.

                “Remy? Remy….is dat you, mon fils?”

                He nodded, taking off his coat and pushing it under the man’s head to make him more comfortable, trying to stem the bleeding with his hands, but the wounds were so numerous…”Shh, quiet now, I’m here. Gonna get you help, just…just hold on…”

                “He was too much for us, Remy,” Jean-Luc continued, voice hitching and raspy as blood seemed to be filling his lungs. “Why…why did you bring this upon us? I did all I could for you…”

                “I didn’t want dis! _I never wanted dis!_ Dat’s why I ran, dats why I staid away! _Oh God, someone help! Someone! Anyone!”_ the hapless mutant found himself screaming to the empty house, but no answer came.

                “Why did you let dis happen to us, Remy? Why…?” He shuddered and then went limp, dead eyes looking past Remy at nothing. Gambit screamed and wrapped his arms around the dead man, burying his face in his blood smeared neck, sobbing harshly.

                “Desole…desole, mon pere…I never wanted dis…” he muttered tearfully. Jean-Luc was already becoming cold and stiff in his hands, and Remy shakily forced himself to let him go, brushing his hand across his father’s face, closing his eyes and kissing his forehead. He slumped against the stairwell wall, shivering, feeling the other man’s blood drying on his skin.

                “Dis isn’t a test…” he muttered, knowing Sinister could hear. “Dis is your revenge.”

                He pushed himself up, though his knees shook and glared into the dark emptiness of the house. “I want to hear you _say it_ , Sinister! Dis is your idea of evening the field, now dat you know what I’m capable of! You’re _scared_! _I WANT TO HEAR YOU SAY IT, YOU BASTARD!_ ”

                There was no answer, but after a moment he heard the creak of floor boards and heavy steps somewhere beyond the upstairs landing. Remy tensed and watched the shadows, knowing there could only be more horrors awaiting him. But he had to press on; somewhere the clock was ticking. He just had to keep himself together.

                Moving past his father’s body, he made it to the second floor. More blood, more ruin, more death awaited him. Henri’s picture was lying broken on the floor, shredded by Creed’s claws, almost unrecognizable. His brother had been one of Sinister’s first victims when all of this mess had started years ago. Defacing his picture was just picking at that old wound.

                Remy attempted to collect himself, listening for further sounds within the shadowed corridors of his old home. Creed was here somewhere, lurking, waiting, drawing him into a trap. He was determined not to meet the man blindly; and to spare him no mercy when he finally found him.

                Gambit moved along the wall, stopping at the first door ahead of him, which was hanging open as well. The blood was heavy here, thick smears of it on the floor, and bright flecks of it shining on the old brass doorknob. Clutching his staff in one hand, he peered slowly inside.

                No movement; just a body on the bed. Eli, a former friend, lover and client of his. The man was gutted like a fish and left lying there on the bedspread; still dressed in his favorite cream colored seersucker suit. Remy spotted a bloody pair of legs just on the other side of the bed and realized they belonged to the man’s daughter, who had been a close friend of his as well.

                Remy did not enter the room but moved past it, feeling the numbness of shock seeping through his system, his jaw set so hard his teeth were gnashing together. He let the edge of his staff click and thud against the wooden baseboards, creating a rhythmic thud as he moved, no doubt giving his position away.

                “So what is dis, hmm?” he asked to the shadows and the men lurking beyond them. “Dis a warning? A _threat_? Dis what you do to my family, after all I done to keep you away from dem? Dis how you gonna punish me?”

                He felt tears running down his face, but his rage was what kept him moving forward, kept him in the game. “I _hate_ you, you sadistic, twisted, _frustrated_ old man! I _hate_ you and I always have! You go on, try to keep me here dis time…you t’ink dis is gonna break me? You t’ink for one fuckin’ second I would ever let you get close enough to dem to even--!?”

                There was a scream and Remy turned, startled by the sound of something living within the newly formed tomb. He bolted towards it, not caring that it was probably exactly what Sinister wanted him to do. He recognized the sound, and if there was even the slightest chance…

                A woman came darting out into the hall, limping and frantic. She came crashing into Remy, still screaming, hands pounding at him as she tried to break free from his grip, but he held the woman fast and close. “Tante! _Tante!_ It’s me! It’s Remy!!”

                The woman, dark skinned, and looking to be in her late forties, with chin-length curls , her long beaded earrings click-and –clacking wildly as she struggled in Remy’s grasp. Only when the young man caught her face between his hands and she actually looked up into his eyes did she stop. “Baby? Dat you, sweet boy? Is it really you?”

                Gambit held her fiercely, checking her body for injury. There were scratches on her hands and arms, but she seemed largely unscathed; the blood that flecked her clothes didn’t seem to belong to her. “De man…he came wit’out a warning…oh Remy, we couldn’t stop ‘im. He kept raving about you, dat it was you he wanted and it was all your fault…”

                “Shh, shhh, nevermind it,” the Cajun hushed the woman, “You’re still here, and I’m getting’ you outta dis place if its de last t’ing I ever do.” He kept her close to him, leading her down the corridor towards one of the old stairwells that lead down into the kitchen below. Creed still hadn’t showed his face, but Remy knew the feral was close by, waiting for his opportunity to spring.

                They descended into the dark of the old closed off stairwell, Remy igniting a card from his pocket to light their way. The woman next to him clung to him, shaking and shivering. Gambit had never seen her so fragile looking; in his youth, Tante Mattie had been a figure of great warmth, wisdom and strength; the only mother he’d ever known, and he loved her deeply. It was she who had introduced him to Jean-Luc, after Remy had run away from his last foster home.

                Sinister was digging _deep_ this time, looking to strike Remy at his very core. It was a cheap and desperate move, and that’s why Gambit knew he was scared. Leaving Mattie alive must be part of the game; he wanted Remy to try to save the woman from Creed. Whether the goal was to have Remy fail at saving the last remaining member of his family, or have him sacrifice himself to keep her alive, he didn’t know. All he really knew now was that the so-called “rules” no longer mattered. This was a personal attack, and Remy meant to make both Essex and Creed pay for it.

                They came to the door at the bottom of the stairwell and Remy tested the knob, finding that it opened easily. He peered into the dark kitchen, holding his breath, watching for some kind of movement, but there was nothing.

                “Stay behind me,” Remy whispered to her, squeezing her hand, and she nodded nervously. Slowly Remy stepped out into the large empty kitchen, eyes sweeping across darkened corners, and beyond countertops, trying to detect anything out of place. Everything was still. He stepped out, pulling the woman behind him. There was a door that lead to the back porch at the far end of room. Remy turned towards it at once, then stuttered to a stop when he saw that it was left ajar. He could see someone lying on the floor and he immediately looked away, turning Mattie’s back to the sight as he did. He felt cold sweat bead his neck and the urge to vomit rise in his throat.

                But she was pushing at his arm, trying to see past him. “Is dat…is dat-!?”

                “Don’t look at him, Tante,” he muttered.

                “Jericho!?”

                “I said don’t look!” Remy barked, pulling her away as she dissolved into tears. Remy found himself at a loss then, unsure which way to turn. He was sure that Creed had left Jericho’s body in the doorway as a warning. But the only other option was to go out through the dinning room and back into the main floor of the house. There were too many rooms, too many ways to be cornered and surprised. Remy racked his memory for some alternative, some side door or exit that he had forgotten about. But nothing came.

                He tried to steady himself but little sparks of his energy were flying from his fingers and crackled across his skin and hair as his distress continued to grow. Tante brushed a calming hand across his and drew his attention back to her. “You’re doing fine, bebe,” she smiled. “I know you’ll get us out of dis.”

                “I’m sorry,” Remy mumbled to her. “Dis is all because of what I am…I never wanted to drag any of you down wit me.”

                She said nothing to him, just kissed his cheek and squeezed his arm. Remy kissed her forehead in return, not caring for the moment that she was nothing more than an illusion. He noticed a carving knife lying on the counter top then and quickly snatched it up.

                “Alright, let’s go.”

                They moved towards the door that lead out into the formal dining room, their footsteps quick and harried. The large chandelier above the dining room table reflected the grey light from the windows, but otherwise the room was shrouded in darkness. All they had to do was make it across the room into the parlor beyond and that would lead them back around to the foyer and front door. It seemed like a lot of ground to cover…but there was no other choice.

                “Stay close to me, and if somet’ing comes at me, you keep running for de front door, don’t look back, don’t even hesitate. Understand?”

                “Remy, you’re no match for him.”

                “I’ll take dat gamble.”

                He pulled another card from his pocket, let it collect a fast and powerful charge and flung it towards the chandelier. The loud pop and subsequent burst of light and smoke illuminated the room momentarily, and Remy saw a body move in the shadows, ready to pounce. As the chandelier came crashing down into the center of the table, his attacker leapt towards them with a roar and the two bolted across the room, narrowly avoiding the spray of glass and splinters of wood as Gambit sent card after card flying backwards at their pursuer.

                “Run Tante! RUN!”

                He flung the woman in front of him as they stumbled into the parlor. Remy tried to grab the French doors and close them on Creed, but the feral crashed right through them, claws swiping, catching Gambit along side the face and neck and sending him spinning to the floor.

                He felt the sting of fresh tears in his skin, but adrenaline was flooding his system, making it easy to ignore the pain. Creed rendered the doors to toothpicks and kindling as he made to pounce, eyes looking hellish yellow in the dark room. Remy kicked him viciously, dislocating his jaw as he made to set upon him. The man crashed to the side, ruining an antique chair, his unhinged jaw allowing his tongue to loll out of his mouth for a moment, exaggerating the length of his fangs until he looked so far from anything human that it was easy to see what a monster he was.

                Creed barely had time to snap it back into place before Remy was on him, swiping at him with his staff, which had also collected his kinetic charge. It cracked across Creed’s shoulders and arm, breaking bones and sending the man rolling.

                _“YOU FUCKING MONSTER! YOU T’INK DIS IS A GAME!? DIS IS MY LIFE! YOU DON’T GET ANY PART OF IT! NOT ANYMORE!”_

Victor howled at him, coming at him harder, finally managing to catch the staff and fling it aside, where it now lay useless. Remy struck several more damaging blows to Victor, which shocked no one more than Creed himself, but the feral was still stronger, driven wild by Remy’s Charm, which had gone completely unchecked since he’d entered the house. The lure of it was making Creed insane; hungry, desperate and without fear. Exactly what Sinister wanted.

                Creed punched the man, then grabbed him by the shirt and flung him bodily. Remy crashed across the table as it broke under the weight of his body and laid in a heap among the ruins for a moment, stunned, before the feral fell on him.

                Gambit screamed as Creed’s claws came across his back, leaving bloody slashes and his teeth sunk into his shoulder. His heavy weight crushed him to the floor as the feral ground against him, trying to get his clothes off.

                Normally Remy would have bared his neck by now and Victor would have recognized the submission and eased back…but not this time. Remy was fighting harder than ever to get away, exploding everything around him with little more than a brush of his fingers.

                Creed grabbed the back of his head and slammed him into the floorboards, trying to subdue him. “Goddammit, Cajun! You wanna die!? Show me yer fuckin’ neck, you little shit, or--!”

                “NO!” Remy screamed, reaching back and managing to catch the tatters of Creed’s coat, which quickly ignited. Victor was blown backwards, scorched and stunned, but already shaking the blindness from his eyes. “I AIN’T GONNA SUBMIT DIS TIME! YOU WANT ME, YOU GONNA HAVE TA KILL ME FIRST!”

                “Don’t be stupid…” Victor growled. It was strange, as incensed as he was by Remy’s allure, he seemed startled by the violence in the other man, as if he couldn’t understand his outrage and grief…

                “You knew this was comin’. You didn’t ever really believe he was gonna let you go, did you!?”

                Gambit pulled the knife he’d taken from his belt loop, letting it glow brightly and Victor actually looked somewhat fearful. “Fuck you, Creed.”

                He flung it at the man and it caught Victor in squarely in the chest, knocking him back at against the wall, sunk handle deep in his sternum. He wheezed a bit for a second, staring at Remy, who was already up and gone, limping out into foyer.

                “Tante! Tante! Where are you!?”

                He didn’t see her anywhere in the foyer, and the front door was standing open as he had left it. He limped towards it, listening for sounds of Sabertooth coming after him. He lurched through the door, just in time to hear a sharp gasp and gurgling breath followed by a metallic noise.

                Remy froze, staring across the threshold at the pair who stood at the foot of the steps. Mattie Baptiste’s back was to him, three long claws protruding through her back. She shuddered as the blades withdrew and then dropped like a rag doll to the ground and didn’t move again. Her killer stood there plainly, staring at Remy with an indifferent gaze, blood dripping from his claws.

                “Hello, darlin’.”

                His knees gave way and he hit the porch hard, utterly winded by the sight. Logan was standing before him, casually stepping over his victim, striding towards him with a cold smile on his face. He was dressed in a black and red uniform, bearing Sinister’s trademark red diamonds on both shoulders and on the chest of his body armor.

                “No…” Remy mumbled dryly.

                “You don’t like the new look?” Wolverine asked, glancing down at himself. “It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

                Gambit stared up at him with haunted eyes, shaking his head. “No… _no_!” He reached up and grabbed Logan, shaking him. “I would have never let him catch you! I would’ve _never_ let him make you into dis! Dis is _not_ who you are, cher! You’re good and kind and loving…yer not like dem!”

                “You sure about that?” Wolverine asked him, still looking at him with that cold, placid expression that seemed all wrong on his handsome face. “You had to know it would come to this, darlin’. But all you cared about was getting’ back to me…you never considered what would happen if we were caught again, how he would use me and my gifts…”

                “NO!”

                Logan gripped him hard, glaring into his eyes. “Shh, shh, don’t fuss! I oughta thank you, really. See, you and me Remy, we can’t hope to fight someone like Sinister. We only end up suffering in the end. Like they did.”

                Gambit sobbed, but Logan held him up right. “Now we can be together, just like you wanted, darlin’. Just like you wanted…” He kissed Remy’s check lovingly, tasting the salt of his sweat and tears and feeling him shake.

                Remy’s hands gripped him hard then and pushed him back, though they didn’t release him. Remy’s eyes were no longer red and black, but glowing ominously bright with energy, little bolts of it dancing across his skin, building around him until he was practically levitating off the ground.

                “I will NEVER let you take him, Essex…I will bring dis whole godforsaken place down around us before I let you so much as put a _hand_ on him!”

                “Remy…stop this.” Logan spoke, though it was no longer in his own voice, but Sinister’s. “Gambit, stop this at once!”

                The lights around them began to flicker erratically as Remy’s energy began to short out all other power sources, causing the simulation to become disrupted. The image of corrupted Logan sputtered and faded completely, just as Victor stumbled from the wreckage of the disintegrating house.

                “Holy shit…”

                Remy’s gaze turned towards the observation deck, where Sinister was watching an expression of fear etched on his normally composed face. “Gambit! Stop this foolishness now! You cannot contain this much energy!”

                But Remy only continued to glare at him, shooting bolts of hot pink lightning from his skin, no longer even touching the floor. The windows of the room shattered and burst and the floor and ceiling began to crack. Even the glass of the observation deck cracked and splintered until it broke completely, exposing Sinister.

                “CREED! STOP HIM!”

                Victor looked dubious, staring at Remy with wide eyes of his own. He sprinted towards him, but all Remy had to do was flick a finger in his direction and he was immediately crippled by a bolt of energy that left him stunned and smoking on the floor.

                Essex braced himself on the control panel, the diamond on his forehead glowing brightly as he tried to reach into Remy’s mind and shut him down that way. But the energy around him was so great that it actually burned him to do so and he fell back screaming, bleeding from his ears and nose. “Remy…Remy _stop_ …it was for your own good…you can’t control yourself. You’ll never be able to control yourself, not without my help…this just proves my point. I’m trying to _save_ you, boy don’t you—“

                Gambit sent a bolt of energy towards him that melted the steel around him, and Essex barely had time to make it to the catwalk before the observation deck came crashing the floor below.

                The door to the room came open then and both Hans and Greycrow appeared. John cursed at the sight of Remy and shouted to him, but the other mutant did not even acknowledge his presence. Hans was loading something into a dart gun, his fur standing on end.

                “I suggest you take your shot, Scalphunter!”

                “I won’t kill him!”

                “It’s either him or the rest of us!” Hans answered, opening fire. A dart struck Remy in the back above the hip and he jolted then whirled, sending a spike of energy that put Hans through the wall. Scalphunter only just managed to roll clear, dropping off the cat walk and hitting the floor at crouch.

                “REMY! SNAP OUT OF IT! YOUR GONNA KILL US ALL!”

                Gambit stared at him but didn’t acknowledge him, still hovering in midair. His attention turned abruptly back to Sinister as the man tried to crawl away, and Remy struck at him again, demolishing the walkway he was on, causing him to slide and cling to the railing to keep from falling to the floor below.

                John leveled his gun at the Cajun. “Don’t make me do it, kid.”

                Gambit said nothing, but as John stared at him he realized the kid was crying. “Just do it…” he muttered. “It’s better dis way.”

                Another dart hit him in the neck and he suddenly fell, his energy disappointing abruptly, causing a massive shock way that knocked them all off their feet. Sinister fell and hit the floor with a loud groan. As soon as he could move, Greycrow was up and running, dropping beside Gambit.

                The kid looked worse for wear, small and pale and suddenly fragile. He pulled the dart of his neck and looked back at Dark Beast, who was bounding towards Essex. Creed seemed to be recovering as well, shaking off the shock and looking at Remy like he was spooked. Greycrow glowered at him as he gathered Remy up in his arms.

                “What the fuck did you do to him?!”

                “It wasn’t me…” Victor muttered, glancing back at Essex, somewhat breathless. “Not this time.”

                John said nothing else, hurrying away with LeBeau before Essex could recover and express his outrage, leaving Victor sitting mute and stunned on the floor, unsure of what had happened to set Remy off that way. He thought he had gotten a glimpse of a dark haired man, who looked vaguely familiar…but it couldn’t be the same person he was thinking of. Could it?

               

***


	5. Chapter 5

 

***

 

                Greycrow paced the bedroom floor, taking repeated shots from a bottle of Wild Turkey as he did. Thirteen hours later, Remy hadn’t regained consciousness. He still seemed completely oblivious to any outward stimuli. The mercenary had badgered Dark Beast for the exact contents of the darts he’d shot Remy with, but the feral mutant was hardly in the mood to give him answers, busy dealing with Sinister, who had taken some injuries as well.

                His frustration and worry was becoming palpable and it put him in a foul mood, fueled by the liquor he sought to soothe his nerves. “Goddamn you,” he muttered, glaring at Gambit’s figure on the bed. “You couldn’t just let it go, could you? You had to keep _fighting_ him. What good has it done ya? Look at you!” He shouted at the unconscious man. “Yer a _stupid_ , fucking kid and I wish ta God I’d never met ya! Watchin you drown little by little in this place, in all this fucking bloodshed and corruption…what do you think that does to a guy like me, LeBeau? You think I enjoy it? Yer too damn soft…you were always too damn soft.”

                “Talking to yourself, Greycrow?”

                John turned to see Creed in the doorway, watching him in the lamp late. John didn’t hesitate to pull a gun on him; “Back off. You don’t get him, not like this, not when he can’t even fight back…”

                “Ain’t here to hurt ‘im.” Creed muttered, eyes shifting from John to Remy. “Wanted to see if he was still breathin’.”

                “Sinister send you?”

                “Naw,” Creed muttered, stepping into the room quietly, shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat. “He ain’t much for givin’ orders just now. Won’t be surprised if his hair hasn’t turned white after what the Cajun put him through. That was…that was _somethin’._ ”

                “If I didn’t know any better, Creed, I’d say you were impressed.”

                Victor smirked at him; “Yeah well…not much seems to put the fear into the old vampire; ‘cept LeBeau. Funny ol’ world ain’t it?”

                “What do you want?”

                “None of yer business,” he muttered back to him, plopping himself down in the chair next to Remy’s bed. “Oh, and, don’t think I’ve forgotten about yer little _prank_ from earlier, either.”

                John laughed; “You deserved it, whatever he did.”

                “Come down off yer high horse, Scalphunter. Yer no better than me, never were. When ya gonna tell LeBeau that yer about to go off and murder a bunch of poor, ugly, helpless muties for a very large paycheck?”

                Remy inhaled suddenly, stuttering into wakefulness, limbs shaking from the sudden rush into awareness after heavy sedation. “Tante? Logan…?”

                Victor cocked his head at the second name, having heard Remy mutter the same one before. Greycrow was beside him, keeping him still; “Hey, easy there, Cajun, you’re alright…all that’s over now. Yer back in yer bed, safe and sound.”

                The fog in Remy’s vision began to clear, and the Cajun slowly understood where he was once more. He sunk back into the pillows, covering his face with his hands. “I’m alive…why am I still alive?”

                “Good question.” Victor grinned.

                John shot a bullet past his head, which burned through the upholstery of the arm chair and buried itself into the wall behind him. Creed only cackled.

                “I got you outta there before they could—“

                “I asked you to kill me, why didn’t you do it?!” Remy snapped, glaring up at his friend. John was momentarily taken aback by this, then frowned deeply.

                “I _assumed_ it was crazy talk, considering the heat of the moment. Just like I assume it is now.”

                Gambit grabbed at him and dragged him close; “Do I look like I’m unsure of myself, homme? If you care about me, Johnnie, even a little bit…” he dragged John’s gun forward and pressed it against his guts. “Pull de trigger. Put me out of dis misery…I can’t bear no more.”

                Greycrow pulled away from him roughly, tucking away his weapon. “Yer being stupid. Ya just need to pull yerself together. It could be worse….” But even as the words left his lips he wasn’t sure how they could be true.

                Remy’s face fell and he turned away, curling into a miserable ball in the middle of the bed, hiding his face. John couldn’t stand to see him this way, whether it was because of his own guilt or Remy’s unchecked Empathy that made it unbearable. He disappeared through the door, presumably to get some air and collect himself.

                Creed remained exactly where he was, however, watching the limp, miserable figure on the bed. After a few moments, when he was sure that Scalphunter wasn’t going to return immediately, he moved toward the bed.

                He crawled up beside LeBeau, the weight of him causing the mattress to dip, but Gambit hardly seemed to take notice, head still buried beneath the fold of his arms. It wasn’t until he felt Creed nuzzle the back of his neck that Remy acknowledged him at all.

                “Yer givin’ up so easy now, LeBeau? Doesn’t seem like you…you stupid little Cajun cockroach…you take a hell of beatin’, but you don’t go down. I oughta know.”

                He brushed a hand down Remy’s side, letting it rest just above the narrow bone of his hip, fingers curled around him, nails lightly pressing into his skin. He felt the familiar allure of Gambit’s Charm, but it was more at a slow burn rather than a raging boil now. Stranger yet, he felt the pull of the younger man’s Empathy, like his despair was something that was physically leaking out of him, damping the world around them.

                An un-empathetic psychopath like Creed found the sensations to be unpleasant, yet addicting. Like that first time they were ever together, Remy was unable to unlock something buried so deep inside him he’d forgotten even what it w _as_. It was exhilarating to feel something beyond his usual scope; if not also terrifying for the mutant.

                But right now, he had something else in mind; something that was keeping him under tighter control than he usually allotted himself.

                “You sure had me goin’ there for a moment…thought you were gonna set this whole place off like a nuclear bomb, take us all with it. Didn’t know you had that kinda power.”

                Remy said nothing, but Creed knew he was listening, continuing to nuzzle him and brush his hands along his skin in an enticing and hopefully soothing manner. “About what you said before…about us workin’ together…maybe you had the right idea. Maybe we could put all this nasty business aside and start working on a way to get out of here…whatdya say, Gumbo? Together we could really be _something._ Don’t ya think, kitten?”

                “You t’ink dat I’ve got Sinister runnin’ scared….and you want to use me to get yourself out of Dark Beast’s clutches.” Remy mumbled flatly, finally retreating from the crook of his arms. “You want to use me as your ticket out of here…den what? You’ll use me up till you get bored and murder me I suppose. Dat sound about right?”

                Victor froze, staring down at the man, unsure how to respond. “You _sure_ you ain’t a telepath?” he muttered.

                “Don’t need to read minds when I can tap into yer feelin’s….horrible as dey are. Can’t believe I ever thought….but yes I can. Like you say…I’m a stupid man.”

                Creed didn’t move away from him, still curled around him. “Alright, cards on the table. We’re both completely _fucked_ if we don’t find a way to get past yer obsessive crush and hit the bricks. We need to move now, and fast, while our pal Essex is still lookin’ for a clean pair of tighty-whities, get it?”

                Remy remained quiet for a moment, and Victor was about to press the argument again when he nodded. “Oui…I will help you, Creed. If I can.”

                Victor blinked in shock. “Wha-really?”

                “Why not? There’s no justice in the world, no goodness that can conquer what Sinister is. I’m going to die here, and I will never see the people I love again. Maybe setting you free on the world again is a slightly lesser evil than letting you stay trapped here to become whatever he has planned…”

                Creed bowed his head and kissed his neck, wrapping his thick arms around the leaner man possessively before beginning to move downward. He expected Remy to kick him off, or curse him or try to escape, but the Cajun was completely passive in his hands, allowing Creed to touch him undaunted.

                Victor whimpered faintly in frustration…between that constant tide of pain and hopelessness he felt washing over him from Remy’s empathy and the lack of response to his desires; it was no fun for him to have an entirely unresponsive playmate. He forced himself to slow down, to restrain the urge to pounce on Gambit. It was no easy task, especially after weeks of being teased by the man, with no pay off. But he felt like he was just about to cash in…

                He found the warm spot on the back of Remy’s neck that earned a deeper sigh from the man below him, and stuttered his hand down the man’s torso, pausing just below his naval, fingers reaching but not touching, claws faintly scratching him. “I gotta admit, kitten, I still look back on that night in Texas…you were one of the best I ever had. Ya got into my bones, my blood somehow…can’t shake ya, though hell knows I’ve tried.”

                Remy didn’t answer but he was beginning to respond more to Creed’s touch, offering up more of his skin for exploration, completely submissive, and surprisingly without fear. Victor knew better than to mistake his compliance for any sort of new found trust, however. He sensed that Remy was still looking for an out…maybe, like that look he’d given him in the aftermath of their wild night in the hotel, he was hoping Creed would be the one to end him.

                But Victor wouldn’t deliver that mercy…not until he had a way of getting free of Sinister and his goons for good.

                Remy kept his eyes closed as Victor licked and nibbled down his skin, prying the man out of his shirt and pulling down the waistband of his pajama pants to explore him more thoroughly. There was a little quiver of fear that went through him then, and Victor felt himself grow more excited upon picking up on it’; but he remained in control.

                He slid off the edge of the bed so that he could kneel more easily between Remy’s legs, dropping his head down and taking him in slowly. The sensation earned the first actual noise of pleasure from his partner, who gripped a handful of Creed’s long gold hair for support and control, while the other went to his mouth, biting on the knuckles to muffle the sound.

                Remy gave over to the one thing that had always sated him when his demons seemed inescapable, his drug of choice; sex. He pushed Creed from his mind as best he could, replacing the image of the man with that of his lover. He needed to replace the haunting image that Essex had presented him with the one he held closest to his heart; the man he knew Logan to be at his core.

                “Logan…”

                Creed ignored the name, though it was starting to burn inside him, not knowing who it belonged to. He lightly ran his hands up and down Remy’s thighs as he pleasured him with his mouth, keeping the other man constantly stimulated. Gambit’s breath started to hitch and quicken as Creed picked up the pace, emitting a low purr from his throat and tongue that sent ripples of vibration through Remy’s most sensitive skin.

                The Cajun bucked up against him, gripping the bedsheets with a little shriek of surprise, but Victor held him down. “Dat—oh god—how are you doin’ dat?” he rasped, cheeks already very red and eyes more glazed than before.

                Creed just looked up at him with that tempting, lustful look from between his legs and Remy closed his eyes with another groan and fell back into the sheets. “Ah…ah….ahhh, oh mon dieu…”

                Victor grinned and increased the vibration, feeling Remy twist and shudder in his hands, but refusing to let him go or give him a break from the overwhelming stimulation. He wanted the man to be putty in his hands again, ready to listen, ready to believe anything he said. If sex would numb him long enough to take full advantage of his vulnerable state, Creed was more than happy to oblige.

                “Ahh…AH! Ha! Mmmm….I can’t…I’m going to…mmm-oh _, Logan!_ ”

                Creed took everything he had, holding Remy’s hips as he shuddered, drawing out his climax to painful sensitivity before finally relenting, licking his lips before moving up to kiss the other man. Gambit wrapped his arms around the big feral, whimpering into his mouth. Creed smelled saline and felt dampness on the man’s cheeks again.

                Victor licked them away and moved his hands back down Remy’s body, pulling his hips up, fingers probing, his own erection pressing hot against Gambit’s thigh. “Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll fuck ya so good and so hard you’ll forget all this…”

                Gambit tried pulling back but Creed wasn’t going to be put off this time, pushing his fingers deeper into the man until he brushed his sweet spot, which made Remy groan loudly in spite of himself.

                “Stop…I don’t want dis, not from you…”

                “Then pretend I’m someone else,” Creed muttered, leaving a bruising love bite on the man’s shoulder. “Whatever gets ya off, baby.” He spread Remy a little wider and pushed inside him, making the smaller man yelp in pain as Creed sunk into him fully. The big feral groaned deeply, relishing the feeling that had so long eluded him.

                Gambit let out a frustrated groan, trying to heave the larger man off him, torn between his anger and hatred of the man and the tempting urge to give over and let himself be taken; he’d been fighting it all so long, and for what? He could be hurt or he could submit; at least the pain would stop. And he could keep pretending that Creed was actually Logan, if he shut his eyes and convinced himself so.

                But Logan would never do this to him. Logan would never be so callous with his fears or emotions, Logan would never put his carnal instincts above Remy’s safety and comfort. The feral, who barely knew him for more than forty-eight hours, was more thoughtful and considerate of Remy’s wants and needs than most lovers the man had ever had. Because Logan _loved_ him; Creed just wanted to use him.

                “You’re not him,” Remy muttered even as Creed was slamming into him, face in Gambit’s hair, breathing harshly. “You’ll _never_ be him.”

                Creed growled and turned the man’s face towards him, stealing another brutal kiss as he slammed his hips into his harder, “Who the fuck cares, princess? Now scream for me…”

                They heard the door then and both men looked back in surprise as Sinister himself came sweeping in. The telepath looked utterly repulsed by the image in front of him, and glared at them darkly before lifting a hand, the diamond on his forehead gleaming brightly.

                Creed howled as he suddenly felt a piercing pain inside his skull and fell away from Gambit, making the other man scramble to pull his clothes back on as Sinister stormed towards him and grabbed his arm, dragging him forward. “Ungrateful wretch…after all you’ve put me through…this is how I find you!?”

                He glared down at Creed, who still moaning at the pain in his head, clawing the ground and trying to make it stop. “Have you been playing me this entire time? Pretending to be so repulsed by him, only to go behind my back--?”

                Remy wrenched away from him. “What I do wit my body is _my_ business! It’s not for you to decide when and where and with who! I don’t _fuck_ so that you can get off vicariously! You frustrated _freak!_ ”

                Sinister struck him hard, sending him flat onto the bed, skull ringing and aching from the force of the blow. “You can’t intimidate me anymore, Essex…You’re afraid of me. You’ve always been afraid of me. So you tried to keep me here, you tried to make believe all your twisted lies about who I was, what I was. You want to control me, and I _let_ you…but I’m done wit dat now.”

                Sinister dragged him close again, leering into his black and ruby colored eyes, “If you think I’ve been cruel to you up till now, boy, you will be sorry to learn what I can do when you truly try my patience…”

                Remy just grinned, though it was sad, manic sort of smile that was unnerving to the man. Gambit had pulled a card from his pocket and let it ignite, though he made no move to throw it. Instead he held it very close to his chest, causing Sinister to drop his hold on him, backing away in surprise.

                Creed, now free from his own torture, was looking on as well, nervously watching the bright fuchsia glow of the card as it continued to build, until it was practically a fireball in Remy’s hand.

                “Maybe I make dis simple for all of us, non?”

                “Remy…don’t do this. You’ll only harm yourself.”

                “Dat’s de point. I let dis build just a little bit longer and it will be like holding a live grenade. Blow me to pieces, probably take you wit it…”

                “Cajun,” Victor muttered, backing away. “Don’t be stupid.”

                “Non, Creed, dis is probably de first _smart_ t’ing I’ve done in a long time. See, wit me gone, all his little experiments, all his crazy plans to build de perfect mutant society according to some cracked imaginary god; dey all go up in smoke.”

                “Gambit, stop this at once!”

                “Or what? You’ll punish me? What does it matter? Gonna have a hard time hurting me when my brains are splattered across your ugly wallpaper…”

                The charge continued to collect until it looked like there was pink fire racing up Remy’s arm. Creed and Sinister were backed to the wall as the Cajun watched placidly, tears still leaking out of the corner of his eyes.

                “Don’t!” Essex shouted, and Remy felt a rush of true fear from the man. “Don’t! I can’t let you do this…I release you.”

                Both Creed and Gambit stared at him, and he nodded earnestly; “I release you Remy; you’re free to go. Nothing is worth loosing you forever…not even my work. Just, don’t do this. Don’t take away the gifts that you were granted, I beg of you.”

                “I don’t believe you.”

                “I give you my word, on Apocalypse himself, that you will never see me again.”

                Gambit hesitated, then let the card burn up in his hand. There was a crackle that rippled across his skin and sent a shockwave across the room that blew the other men backwards and knocked pictures and mirrors from the walls. Remy groaned, hitting his knees…but he was still very much alive.

                Sinister clasped a hand over his breast, breathing heavily, practically shaking with relief. Creed stared between the two, crinkling his nose at the crackling electric smell that now filled the room and made his hair prickle.

Gambit shakily pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his coat and boots from beside the bed and took off at a run before Sinister could stop him, darting out of the door.

To Victor’s extreme surprise, Essex let him go without a fight, sinking into the nearest arm chair, hands still visibly shaken, taking out a handkerchief from his vest pocket to wipe the sweat from his brow and neck.

                “Wait a minute,” he muttered, “Yer not gonna just let him walk away from this…yer shitting me!”

                Essex sighed heavily, rubbing his temples as he gave Victor a glance of annoyance; “He isn’t going anywhere. He will find ample distraction momentarily.”

                Sabertooth blinked at the grey-skinned telepath, sizing him up. “So you knew he’d pull this stunt?”

                “I plan for every contingency; this isn’t the first time our friend has threatened to end his life to escape my influence…the poor deluded soul. However,” he tucked the soiled cloth away, “He’s grown too powerful now; I can’t take the risk of him actually damaging my facility, or even worse yet, actually going through with his escape plan and bringing Xavier’s X-Men down on my head…”

                “X-Men?” Creed grumbled. “What about them?”

                Essex gave him a cold, knowing smirk under the neat line of his mustache. “Yes; I don’t think you realize how much it is that you and Gambit have in common when it comes to the X-Men.” He replied. “He had a little run in with them, you see, when he escaped and went back to New Orleans. He was selling himself for money and food, and apparently they took pity on him. One member in particular became very close with him…a feral mutant, like you. The one called _Wolverine._ ”

                Victor listened in silence, but the scientist delighted in the way his eyes widened then darkened when he spoke the name. “Such a small world isn’t it? That Gambit should find himself bed partners with both you _and_ your estranged half-sibling.”

                Victor’s fists tightened, his claws digging themselves deep into his palms, drawing fresh blood, which squelched and dripped through his fingers as his bones continued to crack and groan under the force.

                “He has no idea of course of _your_ relationship with Wolverine. I rather thought you had _marked_ that one as yours a long time ago, hadn’t you? Well…I suppose it’s not entirely unheard of for Beta’s to abandon their Alpha; especially when the relationship is as…murky as yours was.”

                He lifted himself neatly from the chair. “It’s for the best, I suppose. From what I’ve seen in Gambit’s memories, the two are quite in love with each other. In fact, sources tell me that Wolverine is still actively _looking_ for him; after all this time. Now that’s _dedication._ Wouldn’t you say, Creed?”

                Victor looked at him murderously; realizing now the meaning name Remy had been calling out, even from their first night together. It was never him he wanted; he’d always been secretly replacing him in his mind with Logan. The idea ignited a deep, deadly spark inside Victor that had been dormant for a time now. A nerve had been touched; a sin committed that he couldn’t forgive.

                He turned as if to chase after Remy, but Sinister placed a hand on his arm and was shockingly able to still him. “Not yet, not yet. I have a better plan.”

                “Ain’t interested…” Victor snarled.

                “You don’t have a choice. I need LeBeau for one small errand yet; one he’s about to volunteer for. After he does, you and the other Marauders will be able to complete the task I have assigned you.”

                Creed paused, then grinned wickedly; “You’re gonna get him to show us the way into those tunnels.”

                “Precisely.”

                “And he has no idea what’s going to go down.”

                “Not a clue; and it’s vital it remain that way. Once he’s shown you the way however…he is yours to do with as you please.”

                Victor showed the man his bloody claws. “He won’t be any good to ya after I get done, Essex. All he’ll be useful for is gator bait…”

                The telepath nodded. “I’m counting on it.”

**

                Remy ran through the halls, still shaky from his experience, sparatic sparks of energy still flickering across his skin as he stumbled along, propelled by adrenaline alone. He knew he couldn’t really trust Essex to keep his word; sooner or later the man would come to his senses and try to rope him back in. But right now, right now…Gambit had his power back. His freedom was within his grasp, he just needed to reach out and take hold.

                As he trotted down the staircase, forgoing the labyrinth of corridors in the great house where any number of traps could be waiting for him, he went straight towards the front of door. As he reached the last steps of the grand staircase however, he saw another figure emerge abruptly from around the corner.

                “Remy? What’s going--?”

                Gambit grabbed Greycrow’s thick arm as he tumbled into him, pulling him along and out the door. “We’re getting out of here, you and me, right now.”

                “What? Are your brains scrambled?”

                “He let me go, Jonnie…he let me go.” The paler man panted, looking at his companion breathless, eyes wild and hair falling in his face. John seemed to understand that time was of the essence, and they needed to act quickly.

                Putting an arm around Remy to steady him they darted out across the grounds, making a bee-line towards the Sanctuary Building, both fixated on getting to the elevator inside that brought them back up to the surface facility.

                Though both checked over their shoulders, there was never any sign of anyone chasing after them or attempting to stop their ascent. They darted into the building and went straight for the elevator, Scalphunter hitting the access code to unlock the upper level access. Remy gripped the rail along the wall and tried to calm and refocus himself, lest he accidentally blow them both to hell with a stray charge of energy.

                John slid his tongue over his teeth thoughtfully and scratched at his chin; “What the hell happened after I left?” he muttered.

                “Long story,” Remy chuckled, smiling somewhat manically. “Dis….dis is a trap right? Got to be a trap. Any minute you gonna turn around and shoot me in de face or somet’ing…”

                They looked at each other nervously and then went silent again. A few moments later they arrived at the top floor. John stepped out first into the barren, empty entrance, then motioned Gambit to follow. They marched outside, past the gates and found themselves standing outside the stronghold on the mountainside.

                Remy shuddered as cold, fresh air hit him. It was wet and freezing and smelled like snow. Heavy clouds were rolling above them, and looking down the mountainside to the valley beyond he could still see bright colors of the trees, and the roof tops of buildings and houses and big sweeping farms. Gambit almost wept at the sight of it; he had so feared he would never see the outside world again.

                But John was pulling him on, towards the van, which was parked along the gate. They jumped inside and sped off down the narrow mountain road, both white-knuckled, barely daring to believe this was actually happening…

 ***

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

**

                The world was foggy, a vague island in the mist, while he floated far from shore, adrift in a half-conscious stupor that threatened to drown him, only to be brought back to the surface by sharp bursts of sensation and stimulation.

                Teeth and hands, lips and tongue, a heavy body crushed over his, demanding and taunting, making him squirm and writhe, feeling warm and aroused but not quite all there. A normal person would have described it as a dream; but Timmy didn’t have dreams like normal people. He only ever dreamt of his time in Sinister’s lab, of his life before he gained full awareness. But lately, these foggy states, often following long periods of sudden blackness and senselessness, had begun to arise.

                It was only now, months after these strange “dreams” had begun that Timmy began to understand what they really were. Not dreams at all, but vague perceptions of what was happening to him on the other side of the unbidden darkness.

                He fought against it now, not sure if he was trying to escape or to simply remove the heavy veil of lethargy and see past the fog to the source.

                He was on his back in the grass. Someone’s head was between his legs, clawed hands forcing his thighs open. “Victor…?” he mumbled, finding it hard to speak or make his lips move enough to form words.

                He sunk down again then, deeper into the fog and was lost for a moment or two before finding his way back up again. He felt heat and a pinch in his groin, like he was ready to cum, though he couldn’t remember…why couldn’t he remember?

                The pressure between his hips made him moan and he felt a ripple of orgasm pass over him, followed by hands squeezing his thighs too tightly, something sharp scraping along his skin and a feeling of suction around his cock that made him whine with sensitivity.

                He seemed to float on that current of groggy bliss for a few moments then, content to let the tension and heightened sensation pass. But something at the back of his mind kept nagging him to keep pushing…that this wasn’t right.

                He heard a sound then, low and rumbling. In his haze Timmy thought perhaps it was thunder, then pushed past that thought and realized it was a voice. Someone was talking, somewhere above him. They sounded…irritated.

                He became aware of a little pang of pain in his right thigh, a sharp, stinging throb that made him want to shift into a more comfortable position…but hands held him down hard against the earth. “Victor…? Victor I want to get up…I feel sick…” the words were clear in his mind but they fell out of his lips as ill-formed mush.

                The fog was beginning to burn away now…he began to be able to make out the figure that was baring down on him. Everything seemed watery and blue…a muddied, greyish blue…

                His instincts kicked in as the numbness began to go and new sensations announced themselves in ways that made him grit his teeth and whimper. He felt bruised and scratched and…dirty all over. His thigh began to sting and burn and he jolted when he felt a rough tongue swipe across the wounded skin.

                “Damn, you’re waking up aren’t you? Just as well I suppose…this hasn’t gone at all to plan.”

                Timmy opened his eyes wider with some effort, focus slowly sharpening, to see the all too familiar face of Dark Beast looming over him. “Welcome back, Timothy!” he grinned before grabbing the smaller mutant by the throat and squeezing harshly, dragging him forward so that he could swipe his tongue across his cheek, making him wince.

                “My drug cocktail seems to be wearing off more and more quickly with you, my precarious little pet. I must wonder if it is because of another advancement in your constant evolution, or if I’m just being too generous with you…”

                Timmy scratched at the man, regaining some mobility with his hands, but not much dexterity. Hans laughed at his feeble efforts to injure him. “Oh I wouldn’t bother, you’ll only exhaust yourself. And as much as I enjoy a noble struggle from my playthings; you do not keep my interest. You malformed little anomaly.”

                The clone scratched at him anyway, trying to break the stranglehold the creature had on him. “Victor…he gonna _kill_ you…rip out your throat…leave you for the flies…you ain’t worth eatin’!” he muttered, managing to spit at Hans.

               

The scientist frowned, using his free hand to dab his face, before giving Timmy another brutal squeeze that choked off all his air and slamming him roughly into the ground. The combination rendered him motionless again, but the beast was not interested in giving his former test subject a reprieve.

                He looked down at Timmy’s thigh, which now bore his own bloody bite marks, just below the slant of his hip bone. The bite had been accidental, rendered in the heat of the moment. He had thoroughly enjoyed taking Sabertooth’s precious little underling right in the midst of the mutant’s own territory.

                It went against all his usual precautions; covering his tracks that Creed never knew exactly when or how often he was abducting his Beta right out from under his nose. But after the incident in the Simulator…he was done being _subversive_ about things.

                “I’d like to believe I’d been very considerate of your fragile state until now, S13. The way you’ve attached yourself to that…missing link in mutant evolution…it saddens and sickens me. I would have had such grander plans for you, than having you scraping around in the dirt like some caveman. But, we cannot always control the fates, can we?”

                He flipped Timmy over, pulling the man into his lap as he began to pull down his pants. “He’ll know I’ve marked you, and he’ll come for my head. It’s almost chivalrous, actually. So I rather figure that one bad turn deserves another…” He scratched his nails down Timmy’s chest, keeping the semi-conscious mutant in place by his throat, while he prepared to violate him further. “Once I’ve been in you, he won’t be able to stand the smell of you…Alpha’s are fickle that way. A lesson I mean to teach you now…”

                Timmy started to struggle again, suddenly very rigid and alert, straining to break the hold Han’s drugs had on his mobility and flee or fight back, but he could do little more than squirm and shake, hands feebly scratching at him.

                He felt the rigid length of Han’s erection pressing against his skin and fear rushed through him like a dam breaking; “VICTOR! VICTOR HELP ME!”

                Hans laughed and shook him, grinding against him and hearing him squeal in terror, until the big blue feral sensed the other’s swift approach.

“VICTOR! VICTOR!”

Creed came bounding in on all fours like a lion, howling madly with fangs bared. He crashed into them and tore Hans away from his prize, sending them all flipping and rolling in the dirt. Timmy found himself flattened to the ground, winded and dizzy, then slowly lifted his head from the grass, hearing the vicious sounds of the two feral mutants tearing each other to pieces.

Sabertooth was doing his very best to take Hans’s head from his shoulders. They were howling and hissing at each other, claws and fangs fully bared, eyes bugged and murderous, both already covered in heavy slashes and speckled with blood.

“HE’S MINE! _MINE!_ IF YOU THINK YOU’LL EVER TAKE ‘IM, IT’LL BE OVER MY ROTTING OLD BONES!” Victor roared.

But Hans was surprisingly strong, and while his healing factor could not match Creed’s, he was still very resilient. “How many more times must I teach you who’s in charge here, Creed?!” the scientist bellowed, getting up and charging Sabertooth like a bull, plowing the taller man back until they went stumbling and rolling down the steep incline of the rocky terrain.

They rolled off the edge of the cliff and tumbled to a lower shelf, both hitting the ground with bone breaking force. Victor was stunned, only for a moment or two, but it was all the window Hans needed.

As Victor tried to shake off his momentary stupor, his broken bones cracking and creaking back into position, Hans pounced on him, forcing the man to the edge of rocky shelf, head and shoulders dangling out into space. Below them was the river, and a thick gathering of jagged boulders along the backside of their cave.

Hans was trying to push him off, sending him to a painful, if only temporary, death below. Creed laughed at the idea, trying to force the broader feral off him, but with no success. “Go on! Do it! Crush me, drown me, fry me…I keep coming back, McCoy!”

“Of course you do! But a fall from this height onto those rocks…it’ll take you a bit to regenerate from that,” Dark Beast hissed; “and a couple of minutes is all I need,” he muttered, glancing back at Timmy, who had come limping to the rescue.

Victor’s eyes darted to the approaching mutant. “Get the hell out of here! What are you doin’!?” he shouted, and he was certain that Hans caught the spike of adrenaline in his blood and the rush release of his fear scent.

“I think I’ll leave him in pieces for you to find, Creed…it’ll be a delightful activity for you, something to pass the time with, since of course, you’re no longer needed to keep LeBeau in line.” The blue-furred mutant muttered.

Victor tried to force himself back up, but Hans was too heavy and he had too little leverage in his vulnerable position. “Don’t you touch him! I’ll kill you, I’ll—!”

“Yes, yes, of course you will, darling! But what will that matter to your Beta once I shred him up into bite sized chunks?” He grabbed Creed by the shoulders, allowing his claws to sink deep into the feral’s flesh and muscle, causing him to roar in pain. “Submit and I let him live.”

“Fuck you!” Victor barked, sinking his claws into his enemy’s thick blue-furred arms as well, earning an equal roar of pain. McCoy glared at him, and Victor felt a sudden rush, one that sent his brain firing off alerts. Something about Han’s scent changed then; drastically and abruptly. Victor’s overwhelming desire for murder and bloodshed was swiftly being smothered out by another urge, one equally primal, and far less logical in this state.

He winced and shook his head, trying to swat away the mutant’s influence and pheromone manipulation like it was a buzzing insect, with about as much effectiveness. “Submit, Creed.”

“Fuck you…fuck you, how the _fuck_ are you doing that?!” he barked, wriggling underneath him, trying to escape the close, overwhelming proximity that left him dizzy and desperate for attention and release.

Hans dragged him away from the edge of the cliff and flung him down on his stomach, face in the dirt as he loomed over him from behind, close and oppressive.

“Victor!” Timmy moaned from in front of them, having collapsed into a numb and shaking heap on the ground between them and the Cliffside.

Creed looked up at him helplessly as Hans leaned down and sunk his teeth deep into the flesh between his neck and shoulder. Victor howled in agony, but felt himself also pushing back against the man, his body betraying him as it sought to be taken by the heated, overwhelming force behind him.

“Don’t look, shrimp…” he rasped, Hans dragging his hips back and tearing down his pants to get at his most vulnerable parts, pawing, scratching and pulling without the slightest bit of consideration for sensitivity. “Just close yer eyes…it’ll be over soon.”

Victor bellowed at what came next, Hans mounting him roughly with virtually no preparation, tearing him and forcing him to stretch in ways he’d never had to before. Something in the far recesses of Creed’s mind seemed to snap then.

Of all the horrible acts he’d visited upon other people, mostly innocent victims, he’d never once had this same mistreatment visited upon him. His mind did not know how to grasp the concept that he had finally met someone as callous, cruel and viscous as himself, with the same sick desires to conquer and humiliate everyone around them that they deemed inferior.

Behind him, one fist twisted around Creed’s hair, the other holding his hips, Hans McCoy let out a deep, satisfied moan as though he’d just spent himself. But judging by the way he was so painfully hard inside of him and had barely done more than a few quick, rough pumps; Creed doubted it.

The beast grabbed his hips and slammed Creed backward, impaling him further on his cock, making Creed wrench out another roar that was as much pleasure as it was pain. Creed enjoyed the roughness, he enjoyed the fervor of it, the passion….or at least the pheromones were trying to convince him of that.

Hans created and demanded a harsh pace; one that forced most of the air out of Victor’s lungs each time he slammed into him, leaving Creed a crawling, shaking mess of oversensitive nerves and impossibly consuming lust.

                The blonde came abruptly with a groan, spilling onto the grass beneath him and earning an excited snarl from his attacker, who tugged his hair hard and yanked his head back as he redoubled his pace. The sensitive was overwhelming now, to the point of causing more pain than pleasure as he was constantly torn at, his prostate battered by Hans’s assault until he was simply leaking, still painfully hard.

                His glazed eyes drifted towards Timmy, who was a huddled, miserable ball on the ground, looking on in shock and dread. Creed felt himself coiling up inside, becoming so angry that he was actually numb with it. He knew he had lost him…any decent Beta would abandon him after this display of weakness, though Creed still refused to bare his neck and fully submit. Either way, Hans had proven who was indeed the stronger mate.

                Creed boiled inside, though his immediate thoughts were still too clouded by lust and pheromones to offer any other expression. Behind him, Hans muttered and moaned, rasping about how much he was enjoying this; how stupid Creed was to ever think it would end otherwise…

                The words reminded Victor of other voices from his past. His father; who was a dark shadow in his subconscious now, who had spent every day of his life telling Victor what a wicked, awful, stupid mistake he was, and how Creed was the living embodiment of his sins.

                He thought of Logan, his one constant companion, the only other living thing he deemed worthy of his attentions for decades; and how he had turned on him, accused him of manipulating him, holding him back, just so Creed wouldn’t feel alone in his perverse, desperate life.

                Now here was this smug, condescending bastard; who was taking the last and only thing he really had in the world away from him. This shouldn’t be happening to him. He never should have gotten tangled up in this bullshit…he should have been gone by now. Somewhere Remy LeBeau was walking free and believing that he was safe…Somewhere that lying Cajun bastard, who had been playing him from the very start, was savoring freedom, while he’d left Creed to this travesty. All that talk of working together, all those stupid pitying, hopeful looks of his…they were all lies. Gambit never wanted to help him escape. He just wanted leverage.

                Creed’s eyes were suddenly bright gold, no longer dark and hazy, subdued under Dark Beast’s influence. His claws fully extended themselves and dug deep into the ground. Hans was slamming against him in harsh, short burst, nearing the edge. He dug his claws so deep into Victor’s hip that he scraped bone and howled, finally hitting climax.

                Sabertooth felt the odd warm sensation splashing his battered insides and shuddered. Hans came down slowly, letting his hold drop by degrees until he pulled out of his victim and let him drop fully to the ground, laughing at the way he shivered and rasped for air.

                “Good for you?” McCoy teased above him, giving his battered backside a slap before pulling himself to his feet. “I have to say, Victor, that really was… _everything_ I had been hoping for. You should take some satisfaction in that, at least. So often the conquest is disappointing, compared to the chase.”

                Victor did not move, but he seemed coiled, paralyzed by tension, hardly acknowledging the man who was speaking to him. “But, the time for games is over. I’ll leave you to your thoughts…if you’re still capable of having any.” He grinned and looked to Timmy. “Come along, 13. I’ll need to give you a good detox bath before I let you into my lab again; oh there’s so much to be done….”

                He trailed off then, realizing that Timmy had moved, but only to Victor’s side, now sprawled across the big man’s shoulders, arms around him protectively.

                “Oh enough sentiment now; he’s failed you as a master, you needn’t concern yourself with him any longer.”

                The red and black eyed figure glared back at Hans with blazing bitterness and rebellion, his teeth bared. “He’s my Alpha. I’m not leaving.”

                Creed lifted his head in surprise, Timmy still wrapped around him; “He’s right, ya know. He beat me…proved he was stronger. He’s your Alpha now.”

                The clone shook his head sharply; “No! Only _you_ , Victor. Only you.” He looked down at the scars that adorned his neck and shoulder in the shape of Victor’s teeth; his marking. Creed was… _stunned_.

                “Oh now this is just _pathetic_ , “ Hans muttered behind them, clearly on the verge of becoming irritated with their lack of cooperation. “Are you trying to sell some sappy love story here? You really think this little Neanderthal is capable of knowing the difference between human loyalty and the laws of nature; that the fittest survive?! _Inconceivable_. I simply haven’t frightened the little wretch enough—“

                He started forward, with every intention of bringing harm to the strange pseudo-feral creature that was outright defying him. But as he reached out to grab at the man’s neck and pull him away from Victor; Sabertooth suddenly sprang into action.

                His claws slashed his throat wide, causing a hefty spurt of blood that sprayed them both and painted the grass and rock below them dark red. Hans gurgled, clutching the wound. As he struggled to stem the bleeding and keep himself from blacking out while his own healing factor grappled with the damage, Creed grabbed him by the shoulders and hurled him forward.

                Hans went over the side of the cliff and down, down, down onto the rocks of the riverbed below. His body crunched and cracked as he fell, finally making a soft thud as he missed the sharpest rocks and landed on the rocky riverbed, half out of the water, which quickly began to run red.

                Creed glared down at him; he knew the man was broken, and probably dead. At least for the moment; with his luck Hans would be his old self again in days, possibly hours…he wasn’t sure. But whatever hell he had to pay later; the sense of satisfied revenge he felt now was worth it.

                Timmy propped himself against him shakily, still not fully recovered from the drugs he’d been given. Victor put his big arms around him and scooped him up, kissing him roughly and holding him almost too tightly. “You staid.” He muttered, sounding angry though he was actually baffled.

                The smaller brunette nuzzled him; “You made me. I can’t belong to anyone else.”

                Creed didn’t understand, but for the moment he decided he didn’t need to. He carried Timmy back down the trail to the river far below. Once he’d settled his battered mate safely inside, he moved to examine the body.

                Victor dragged Hans’s twisted figure out of the water by one ankle, raking him across the rocks as he looked him over. The bastard scientist was actually still alive; though he wasn’t going to be aware of anything for a long time. Creed picked his soaking hide up and made towards the wall of the enclosure, undoing the boundaries and making his way out of the Sanctuary, where he deposited McCoy’s twisted figure onto the floor.

                “Can’t tell which of us won the battle or the war today, McCoy. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before fuckin’ with me and what’s mine…but I doubt it.”

                He looked up then as another figure appeared in the corridor from the stairwell; the slightly off worker clone that he’d seen earlier, being hounded by Hans.

                “Oh dear! What happened here?” the man asked, seeming both truly shocked and somewhat awed at the sight.

                “Ya might want to get a few of yer copy-cat buddies and take him down to the medical ward…tell ‘em to bring a mop.” Sabertooth muttered, turning and stepping back inside, letting the doors slide closed behind him.

 

***

 

                Twenty miles away, Gambit and Scalphunter were holed up in a dark, seedy hotel room. Both men were nervous, edgy, and trying to plan their next move. They were too close to Sinister’s stronghold now, but perhaps being so close was like hiding in plain sight. Surely Essex expected Remy to make a beeline for New York, looking for Wolverine. So the Cajun needed to avoid it as long as possible; at least until Sinister was off his trail.

                John was still trying to make sense of the story; “And he let you go…just like that?”

                “You make it sound so simple, cher, like it happened in passin’. He was _scared_ , Johnnie, like I never seen him scared before. Didn’t even know he was capable of dat kind of fear, I could almost…almost actually _feel_ it.”

                “But you know it isn’t over. I mean…you _know_ that.”

                “Don’t matter…all I gotta do now is stay outta sight and outta mind until I can make it to Westchester.”

                “You think he won’t come for you then? He wasn’t afraid of Wolverine before, what makes you think a few extra X-Men are gonna make him change his mind?”

                “Cause of Xavier himself…heard Sinister talk about him before, like he was de devil himself. Xavier’s another telepath, supposed to be de greatest in de world. He knows he’d be in for a fight; one he probably can’t win.”

                “And what makes you think this great and powerful Xavier won’t give you over just to avoid trouble?”

                “I don’t. I don’t know anyt’ing for sure. But when has dat ever stopped me?” He grinned, but the smile was stretched and nervous and fell quickly. Gambit flopped onto the bed, exhausted and aching all over, finally beginning to come down from the adrenaline high that had gotten him this far.

                “Were you really going to do it?” John asked after a time, sipping his beer.

                Remy wasn’t quick to answer, staring at the water stained and cracked ceiling. “At de time…seemed like de best option, you know?”

                “No, I don’t.” Greycrow answered. “My life’s been one shit turn after another, but I guess I still like the idea of the cheap thrills too much to give it up.”

                “Dat’s not a bad t’ing, Johnnie.”

                “Yeah, well, maybe it should be.” He muttered. “You ever consider what might happen if he gets in my head again, the way he did before?”

                Again Gambit nodded, still looking tiredly at the ceiling. “I’ll be ready if he does. I know the difference now, can recognize it faster. Won’t catch me off guard.”

                “Yeah well, what if he decides to have me smother you in yer sleep, hmm?”

                “Den…I’m still free.”

                Greycrow cursed and stood up abruptly, chucking his bottle against the wall and letting in break, sending suds of foamy amber liquid dripping down the wallpaper. “Goddammit, LeBeau! You ever consider for a second what you getting out means for the rest of us!?”

                “He won’t blame you. If nothin’ else, say I Charmed you.”

                “He’ll see the truth.”

                “Then maybe I really will Charm ya, just to cover my tracks.” Remy mumbled, and John felt the pull of his influence suddenly snaring him, quashing his anger and making him suddenly hungry for the other man’s affection.

                “You asshole…don’t do that.” He muttered, more softly, letting Remy draw him down over top of him on the bed. The Cajun wrapped his arms around him and held tightly, kissing the darkly tan man’s lips and then cheek.

                “Don’t want dat…just need an anchor. Something to keep me here, remembering it ain’t all hopeless and bad…cause I forget sometimes, cher. Sometimes it almost feels like dere never was anyt’ing else.”

                They laid together for a moment on the old musty mattress, saying nothing, Greycrow grudgingly continuing to hold the smaller man even after his influence had faded. He didn’t know what to expect next from Essex; all he knew was that I was going to be bad. Even if they got back in the van and drove all night and into the next day, they would still be in danger.

                He thought about his mission; the one Essex had given him with days ago. Remy’s part in the plan was still unknown, and even now in the midst of all this turmoil that small detail vexed him. He felt like a rat wandering a maze, looking for a piece of moldy cheese that probably didn’t even fucking exist. But here he was anyway; either out of sentimental stupidity or some clandestine doom, he wasn’t sure.

                He felt hazy then, like he was falling asleep…

                “You know, there is someplace we could go; someplace he can’t get to, until the heat dies down.”

                “Oh? Where’s dat, mon frere? Antartica?” Remy chuckled groggily beneath his chin.

                “Shut up. Naw, I was thinking more east…remember that weird run-in you had in Jersey a few years back? The one you told me about, with the fish-faced fucker who cheated _you_ at cards?”

                Remy paused for a moment then glanced up at him. “Wait…de Morlocks?”

                “Why not? You’re pals with those side-show fuckers, ain’t ya?”

                “I’m an _acquaintance_ at best, mon ami. You talkin’ about going all the way to New York, which is _exactly_ where he expects us to go by de way, on a very slim chance dat I could find my way back into dose old tunnels, and even then, dat don’t guarantee safety…Morlocks are plenty dangerous all on deir own.”

                “Sure, sure…but you’re the _only_ one who knows how to even find those tunnels. And Sinister can’t get into your head no more…might be our only shot.”

                Gambit considered this, knowing it was a long shot…he chewed his lip thoughtfully.

                “It’s a long shot…we’ll probably get killed along de way, or killed by de other mutants when dey find us snooping around. Ain’t like they got a password or a code or not’in…but it’s dat or crawl back to Sinister. And I’ll take just about anyt’ing over that.”

 

***


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING! *GRAPHIC VIOLENCE/RAPE. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.

 

***

 

                Timmy slept strangely for the next several hours, his body finally recovering from the abuse and the drug cocktail that Dark Beast had stricken him with. When he woke again he was once again himself, though he felt an instant sense of tension, dread and foreboding.

                Victor was not beside him on the mat, nor in the cave at all, but he sensed his Alpha close by. The clone lifted himself from the floor, wincing at the wound on his thigh and sneering at it with disdain before limping out into the opening. Creed was pacing about, tense, restless, agitated.

                “Kitty?”

                The blonde glanced in his direction and grunted before looking anxiously out beyond their simulated landscape to the walls beyond. “It’s gonna happen soon, can feel it. Goddammit…this is all his fucking fault…I’ll tear his throat out….”

                “Kitty?” Timmy asked again, moving closer, distressed by seeing his Alpha in such a state. He touched Creed’s shoulder and the bigger man nearly back-handed him, but stopped short, catching himself.

                “Dammit, don’t do that! Especially not now…you look too fucking much like _him_ and it makes me wanna--!” he gnashed his teeth and extended his claws.

                His Beta trembled under his rage and sunk to the ground submissively, and Victor grunted again and dropped beside him, pulling him in close. “I know you ain’t him. Pretty soon I wouldn’t have to try to tell the difference…” he muttered, then added. “I gotta take off for awhile, shrimp. There’s some business I gotta take care of.”

                Timmy tensed. “Will you come back?”

                “Yeah…may be a day or so though.”

                The lean, tan young man looked at him mournfully; “No…what if he comes back?”

                Victor growled and buried his nose in Timmy’s hair, trying to find some comfort and clarity in the other man’s smell. “I’ll think of somethin’…”

                There was the faint thud then of the sliding doors of the Sanctuary being opened, and both men tensed and looked up, watching, listening, like rabbits in an open field upon hearing approaching thunder. A second later Victor went bounding towards the wall, peering down the path from the shelter of some high boulders and low shrubs, Timmy crouched beside him.

                One of Sinister’s worker clones was returning, leading a gaggle of what looked like…Victor squinted for a moment then growled low and bitterly. More LeBeau clones; a baker’s dozen of them. They looked as vapid and vacant as the last batch Victor had disposed of, but they seemed able to follow direction better, as they were trailing after the grey-skinned man with complete trust and ease.

                The group came to a stop at the enclosure next to theirs and the worker clone began scanning each of the gawking, half-naked men as they stood around like cattle being herded into their pen.

                Beside him Timmy hissed softly; “More like me,” he muttered, glaring darkly at the newest arrivals. “Bad man, he made more. Why would he make more? We are always broken…something wrong…”

                Creed put a hand on his shoulder, recognizing that his pack-mate seemed to be about to slip into one of his weird fogs where he rambled about Gambit and Sinister and nonsense that made little sense and creeped him out.

                “Nevermind why, shrimp. This gives me an idea…”

                He moved forward then, leaving Timmy safely behind and made his way outside the enclosure, until he was standing next to the worker clone. The slightly shorter-haired, younger version of Essex turned to him with a bit of surprise, blinking up at his towering figure.

                “Oh! Mr. Creed! Lovely to see you again. Something I can assist you with?” he asked blithely. Victor sniffed him and suddenly recognized him as the clone from yesterday. Strangely this one worker, out of dozen, possibly hundreds, kept showing up in his life. But he hadn’t time to ponder it now.

                "Maybe you can,” he answered slyly, looking from him to the clones who slipped past them, one by one entering the swampy landscape beyond, quickly navigating their way towards the inner structure that looked like an old cabin off the edge of a swampy pier, surrounded by dark muddy water and thick moss hanging off cypress trees. “Got room for one more in there?”

                “I…beg your pardon?” the smaller man asked curiously.

                “Listen, copy-cat, you did me a favor the other day; cleaning up my mess, remember?”

                “Oh yes. I should inform you that Dr. McCoy is making a speedy recovery; although I’m afraid he will not be healed enough to make the journey with you and your compatriots this morning. He seems rather… _put-out_ about it.”

                “Exactly why I need your help,” Creed continued. “Dr. McCoy ain’t exactly a friend of mine, and I don’t imagine yer too _friendly_ with him either, after the way he pounced on ya that day. Am I right?”  


                “I…” the clone seemed to falter, looking slightly embarrassed and confused. “It is not my place to deem Dr. McCoy _friend_ worthy or not. He is one of my employers, and I must obey his orders…without hesitation.”

                “Sounds like that’s gonna be hard for you, pal, cause you smell all _kinds_ of hesitant to me. So how about you skip the protocol and do right by one of yer fellow clones?”

                Again the dark haired man looked confused, then glanced past Creed at another figure who was lingering just at the edge of the enclosure. “Oh my; S13 isn’t it?”

                “Don’t call him that unless ya want him to bite off a finger or two.” Victor corrected. The two stared at each other for a moment, each feeling a bizarre connection, recognizing the faint flaws in each other that made them less than perfect copies of their original predecessors.

                “Let him slip in with the others, just for a day or so. McCoy will never be able to tell them apart once he soaks up some of that swamp smell. He’ll be safe.”

                “Safe from what?”

                “From what he does to you and yer little pals any chance he gets when he feels frisky. But he’s gonna be in a _mean_ mood after what I done to him. So it ain’t safe for Timmy to stay where he is. You understand?”

                “I…of course.” 16, as he had come to be known, nodded resolutely. “Please, this way, I’ll scan you with the others so that there will be no errors reported in the system matrix.”

                Timmy turned and looked anxiously at Victor, but his Alpha only looked at him sternly. “You stay in the background, hidden if you can, and act like these idiots do. If Hans comes snooping , you hold your ground, you act like you don’t know ‘im, and you sure as _shit_ don’t looks _scared_ cause the moment you do, he’ll find ya.”

                “He won’t.” his Beta answered resolutely.

                Creed gave him a rough kiss and nudged him forward, allowing 16 to scan him before ushering him inside. Timmy hesitated at the edge of the muddy bank for a moment longer, looking at Creed for reassurance, then went running after the others as they disappeared into the Bayou.

                “I’ll keep an eye on him, sir. Don’t worry about a thing.”

                Sabertooth glanced closer at the smaller, grey-skinned man and sniffed him faintly, committing his smell to memory. “I owe you for this, little man.”

                “N-not at all, Mr. Creed.”

                Victor stilled then, staring off and then grinned darkly. “See ya later, copy-cat. I got some nasty business to attend to.”

 

**

 

                They made it to the outskirts of Manhattan in six hours. It took another three for Remy to find his way along the labyrinth of streets to the older roads, to desolate and abandoned looking row of warehouses that surrounded the dead end street. Even for the most staunch New Yorker, it was a place that was nearly off the map; a place that only those who already knew where it was could find.

                Eventually, he found the manhole, which was rusty and warped, surrounded by long abandoned traffic cones and the faded sign that read “Caution, Men at Work”.

                “You’re sure this is the place?” Greycrow muttered, watching as Gambit pried off the cover and peered down into the damp emptiness below. The smell was cold and stagnant in the winter air, but at least it stifled the smell of mold and rot.

                Remy nodded; “It’ll either take us to de Morlocks, or a bunch of turtles eating pizza. One or de other.” He grinned.

                He started down the ladder, and was nearly to the bottom before Greycrow joined him. “Come on, slow poke! Dis was your idea, non?”

                John nodded, but said nothing. He’d been grim and quiet since they left Tennessee, saying no more than maybe two sentences to him. His partner didn’t blame him, however. They both knew the stakes now, and they both knew that any moment Sinister could reach out and try to strike them down. So far, he hadn’t. Remy began to wonder if he hadn’t disabled the man somehow, injured him in some way that left him incapable of exacting his rage at that moment. But he would never be that lucky; not in a million years.

                His mind wandered to Creed and he wondered about the man’s fate again. He shouldn’t care; yet Victor had seemed so desperate. Remy knew what desperate was, and hated to see it on any creature. Yes, even Victor Creed. But he pushed his guilt aside; there was nothing for it now.

                Down in the blackness of the tunnels, they felt their way along the wall, holding the old rusty hand rails for added support as they crept along the narrow brick edge, just five feet or so above the rushing water.

                It was all run off from the city drains above, it smelled rank and sour and usually of trash and faintly of gasoline. As they continued on, guided only by the narrow, bright light of Greycrow’s flash light, they came to more off shoots where the water poured down in swirling torrents into whirlpools and vanished somewhere unseen. One misstep and they would be swept away by the current and drowned.

                Remy lead John down the farthest tunnel to the left, which had the least amount of run off as well. But it was also darker down here, and the smell was heavier, danker. The walkways vanished and they had to trod on through the shallow water that rose around shins. “You’ve got friends in low places, LeBeau.” Greycrow muttered.

                “Friends are friends, mon frere, and once again, dis was _your_ idea.” He paused a moment, glancing back at John in the dark. “What made you t’ink of it anyway?”

                Greycrow blinked at him a moment, then shrugged faintly. “No one hides themselves better than the Morlocks. Every mutant knows that. You don’t want to be found, this is where you go.”

                Remy paused, not sure he believed him; though he couldn’t exactly argue with him. “What will you do now? Leave me here and go back?”

                “I can’t go back, kid.”

                “Non, I don’t suppose you can. I’m sorry about Philippa. I know she and you…”

                “Don’t worry about it. How close are we?”

                “Not sure, de entrance somewhere down here in the de dark, I find it sooner or later. But, listen to me, Johnnie, you stuck your neck out for be plenty of times before, but never like dis…”

                “I said don’t’ worry about it.”

                “If you turn back now, dere might still be a way for you to go on; go back to de way t’ings were before.”

                “Where’s the door, Gambit?” his voice was a tense growl now, and Remy turned to look at him more fully.

                “John…what was it that made you t’ink of dis again?”

                “What?”

                “You remembered somet’ing about a card game? You know…I don’t remember tellin’ you about dat now, actually.” Remy was reaching for his cards nervously.

                There was a faint noise then behind them, and a new source of light. Gambit glanced behind him as what he thought was another long stretch of tunnel began to slide aside; revealing a illusion that was covering a new entrance, one that was filled with light and sound.

                A figure appeared in the dark, a small, pebbly brown-skinned creature with enormous black eyes that looked like a frog, wearing a beanie cap and a heavy wool coat. He blinked up at the new comers with great surprise.

                “Who the hell are you?”

                Something zinged past them then in a flash of blue light. The small frog-like man cried out and then fell forward in the water, speared by something luminous. Remy looked back down the tunnel to see other figures gathering there; figures he knew.

                Arclight stood there, along with another of their compatriots called Harpoon, who had thrown the spear, baring the opening of the tunnel. “I was beginning to wonder if you actually knew where you were going, Cajun. But your memory seems to be sharper than your common sense.” Philippa replied.

                “What is this?” Remy seethed, glaring from her, to John to the dead body in the water. _“What de hell is dis!?”_

                John’s face was a grim mask. “Just get inside,” he muttered to the approaching figures from the mouth of the tunnel. “Before someone sounds an alarm.”

                Philippa, Harpoon and several other figures (Vertigo, Prism and Scrambler) started forward, only to pause when they saw Remy’s hands ignite in bright hot pink flames.

                _“Non._ No one takes another s _tep._ ”

                “Cajun, this don’t concern you.” John hissed at him. “Let it go, walk away…please, I’m begging you.”

                Remy gave him a dark look, “You _used_ me.”

                Gambit felt the man’s remorse, he felt that pang of regret; but John’s face only hardened as he glared him down in the dark. “You should be used to it by now.”

                The Cajun howled and hurled his cards at them, watching as the tunnel around them burst into light a moment before blinding everyone with the flash and smoke. In that brief second he saw more faces appear from the outlying tunnel, and he realized how stupid he had been. How terribly, naively, _stupid_ he’d been.

                He tried to turn into the now open entrance to the Morlock tunnels, he tried to escape inside, but a sudden violent shock wave, caused by Arclight, rippled over him, knocking him aside. People rushed past him and Remy attempted to stop them, managing to grab hold of several fallen bricks, charging them and hurling them at the descending Marauders.

                One managed to strike at Prism, chipping a piece of his crystalline form and causing him to whirl back towards the Cajun, who was already getting to his feet, flinging more projectiles at them. “You backwater little cocksucker, I’ll--!”

                Remy clipped him again, hard enough to send him sprawling. The Cajun turned his aim then on the upper walls as they now stood on the precipice of the Morlock’s lair; which was not sewer at all but vast cavernous tunnels created to be used in case of nuclear fallout.

                Gambit could see the other mutants below, who had come to see what commotion was. “RUN! GET AWAY, ALL OF YOU, _NOW_!” he screamed to them, before sending more cards flying above, causing a portion of the tunnel ceiling to crack and fall.

                The Marauders were forced back as the other mutants fled, a momentary barrier between them. He stood ready to defend himself against the next wave of attack from Scrambler and Prism, but was caught by surprise when a crippling wave of nausea and vertigo sent him stumbling.

                The woman herself was behind him, grinning down at him through the distortive waves of energy; “No stomach for real work, LeBeau? That’s a pity. I always thought you were kinda cute.”

                Remy shut his eyes tightly and tried to collect himself, grabbing his staff and managing to swing at her. It caught her in the head and knocked her aside with a scream. He ran past her, hoping to stem off anymore of Sinister’s kill squad before they could get inside the tunnels. His warning had broken their element of surprise, but unless he could keep these goons out, it may not be enough to stem the damage.

                “Take him down! NOW!”

                A thick fist burrowed itself into his guts then and winded him while the next crashed down upon his shoulders and flattened him into the water. Remy choked on mouthful and came up gasping, only to be grabbed by another bigger man, (twice his size and strength actually, resembling a heavyweight wrestling champ) who hurled him bodily towards the opening of the tunnel.

                John started towards him, but Philippa sent another shock wave that caused the wall to cave in between them. Scalphunter looked to her for explanation, to which she only answered; “Let Creed deal with him.”

 

 

                Remy covered his head as bricks and cement rained down on him from above. A moment later the tremors had stopped and he got up, only to find his way barred by the fallout. _“JOHN! DON’T DO DIS! DON’T DO DIS PLEASE!”_

                He grabbed at the bricks trying to dig his way through, letting them pop and explode in his hand; but the charges just caused more debris to fall and Remy realized he risked killing everyone, including himself he kept going.

                He felt himself suffocating on panic and frustration…Sinister had always been two steps ahead of him. Everything, _everything_ had been part of his plan. Never once was he truly out of control. Not really. Even at his weakest, he had been pulling his strings, anticipating Gambit’s every move, his every _thought._ Remy _had_ frightened him. And now he was paying for that defiance; with innocent people’s lives.

                Gambit continued to dig through the rubble, trying to get through. On the other side he could hear screaming and the sounds of fighting and chaos…Oh God. What had he done?”

                “Somebody…somebody, _anybody!_ Dis is my fault, but I can’t stop it! If anyone can hear me, help! Help dem! PLEASE! CAN ANYONE HEAR ME!? HELP!” He screamed, not knowing why and not even believing his plea would go answered, yet he cried out all the same, if only out of helplessness.

                There was a stirring in the dark behind him then. Gambit felt the air curdle, he felt a wave of heat and rage, of murderous lust. His insides turned to ice. He stilled, barely breathing, eyes wide as he listened.

                He reached for his staff, gripping it tightly, feeling it instantly collect a charge from his shaking fingers as he turned to face this new horror. Though his eyes adjusted easily in the dark, he could not see Creed; he could only feel him.

                The howls and moans were growing louder behind him; Gambit began to smell fire and blood in the air. Death was all around him and he stood frozen to the spot, unsure where to go. He knew anything he did now; he was doomed. But he had to move all the same. He had to try…

                He pulled another card from his deck and glanced at it; an ace of spades. It began to glow hot and bright and Remy left it float from his hand and waft out into the cross section of tunnels, slowly rising in the air.

                He caught the smallest glint of gold from Creed’s eyes. He was on his left. The card exploded and Remy bolted to the right. Creed came thundering after him.

                The darkness did not hide him. Everything about him gave him away; the rush of his breath, the thundering of his pulse, the sound of his boots fitting the wet floor, even the flap of his trench coat as it fluttered behind him. He kept throwing cards back, trying to delay Creed as he zipped down side tunnels and doubled back and over his own trial, trying to lose the beast. It seemed as if his movements were frantic and random, but Remy knew where he was going.

                He was heading back the way he had come, back to the abandoned side street and the rusty manhole. He had to lead Creed away from the remaining Morlocks, he had to get to the surface and find help…

                Victor was always just behind him, by a yard or less, thundering after him on all fours, no matter what Gambit threw at him. This was not a simulation anymore; there was no clock to run out, no safe zone, no one to call Sabertooth off. And from what Gambit could feel coming off the man; the pure malicious hatred that seethed from his very pores…he knew this was the end game.

                He took a sharp, sudden turn through a narrower off-shoot, one which forced him to actually slide flat on his back as shot down the tunnel like a kid at a water park. Dark, dirty water swirled all around him and made it impossible to slow his descent, then he was airborne for a moment before crashing down again.

                He sat up, soaked and shaking, wiping his wet hair out of his face. All his cards were useless now, floating in the water around him. He couldn’t find him staff. He turned around frantically in the tunnel, looking for signs of Creed…but he saw nothing and no one. There was light above him, coming through a grate. There was a ladder just a few feet ahead of him. The water was a thick, sludgy pool that had him sunk up to his thighs. He sloshed towards the ladder, breathless, inches from freedom…

                There was a heavy splash behind him as something fell from above, and suddenly a clawed hand knotted itself in the back his coat and tore him backwards. _“NOT THIS TIME.”_

                Gambit shouted as he was dragged backward and flung around until he flew through the air and crashed against the wall. The redhead shouted in pain as brick and cement cracked against his bones and sent him slumping down into the water, only to have Creed grab him again, punching, kicking, claws and teeth everywhere.

                “YOU LITTLE FUCKING WHORE! YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD HAVE HIM? YOU THINK HE LOVES YOU!? DIRTY LITTLE GATOR FUCKER! HE’S _MINE!_ _HE WAS ALWAYS MINE!_ YOU’LL NEVER FUCKING HAVE HIM! _EVER!“_

                Gambit tried to defend himself, but he couldn’t keep up with the viciousness of the assault; Creed was so much stronger than him, and so much deadlier. There was no humanity, no reason left. There was only the beast. And it was thirsty for blood.

                Hatred, poisonous, lethal hatred was flowing out of Creed like steam and it muddled Remy’s mind as much as his physical attacks did. Jealousy…deep rooted jealousy, covetous and thick of the most grotesque sort of envy…Remy couldn’t understand it’s source; even if he weren’t being half drowned and his head smashed into a brick wall.

                Everything hurt. He was sure Creed had broken one of his cheekbones on that last go. His arms and legs were slashed, riddled with defensive wounds, even his hair felt bloody.

                Creed pinned him against the wall, one clawed hand around his neck, holding him up, the other twisting his arm behind his back. Remy’s other arm was useless, dangling limply at his side, dislocated and numb.

                “Creed…” he managed to gurgle out through bloody lips. “Stop…”

                Sabertooth chuckled darkly in his ear, grinding hard against him, shredding away Gambit’s jeans to get at the naked skin beneath. “What was that, kitten?”

                Gambit knew what was going to happen a second before it did; there was no time to brace himself. Creed forced his legs apart with his knee, pried open his cheeks and _shoved_. Burning and ripping; like he was being forced down onto a hot poker. Remy wrenched out a scream that was choked and ragged, and hitched louder when Creed pulled back slightly and slammed forward _again_ , bodily jarring the man up against the wall.

                Victor was slick with blood now. He rammed into Remy several more times, each time earning an gurgled, agonized scream from his victim. He dug his nails into his neck, spilling more blood, watching the way it made little rivers down his skin; “What was that? Didn’t hear ya? Ya want me to stop? You want me to _stop!?_ ”

                He did, finally, finishing inside the man with a grunt and shiver, pulling Gambit back tightly against him, watching him dangle. The kid looked like he was dying, eyes screwed shut with pain, mouth hanging open in a silent sob, twitching. The smell of blood was so thick in the air that Creed was practically high from it.

                He cupped Remy’s chin and turned the man’s face towards him, so that he was looking up at him from his helplessly positon; “I would like ta say it wasn’t personal, sweetheart. But that would be lyin’…” He licked the blood off the man’s cheek. “You were fun for awhile; but you always thought you were better than me. And you spread yer legs and thought about _him_ …well, that’s alright. Cause I know I’ll be the last thing you _ever_ think about.”

                Creed extended his claws fully and dug them deep into Remy’s torso, staring under his rib and raking slowly down and across. Gambit convulsed against him; his scream died on his lips as quickly as it came, turning into a choked gargle. Blood poured into the water and Victor felt skin and muscle collecting under his nails.

                He didn’t stop until he scraped the edge of Remy’s hip bone. Then he pulled back and let the man fall into the water. Gambit bobbed there, not quite surfacing, the water turning from rusty brown to deep crimson around him. Creed turned away, sloshing back down the tunnel and disappeared into the dark.

 

A noise…a strange sort of gusting roar, like standing too close to a jet engine or a passing train…brought him back to life.

                His mouth and nose were full of water and he coughed and spat…only he couldn’t really. He couldn’t do either of those things without feeling like he had broken everything in his body. He was cold…freezing in fact, and shaking so hard he didn’t know how he wasn’t vibrating off the ground…which he wasn’t really touching anyway. He was floating.

                There was so much pain that it felt like his mind had simply run out of ways to process it, and so it turned into an all-encompassing throb, followed by sharp spike of agony that radiated from his core and spread outward.

                He stared upward with glazed eyes at a watery light source…slowly he began to realize it was the grate. Creed was gone now…there was no sign of the man in the dark with him, but he could hear noises echoing from further down the tunnels and above his head. The fighting was still going on somewhere…

                The fighting that was his fault.

                He was dying, he realized. He recognized the feeling, probably better than anyone should. Creed had ripped him open and left him to bleed to death…he’d raped him and carved him up and left him for the rats…it was over. He was dead, and no one would probably ever find him. He’d rot down here, bloated and white and half eaten…

                _No._

                Somehow, he began to pull himself through the water. Every little flex of his fingers, every breath or bat of an eyelash hurt like hell…but he was still moving. He was dying…but he wasn’t going to die down here, anonymous and forgotten like Sinister wanted. He was going to get out…drag himself across the street…until someone saw, until someone came looking, until somebody asked “what the hell happened to this poor bastard?”

                Because if someone went looking, they’d find the others…they’d find what the Marauders had done. And someone would start asking more questions…someone like the X-Men. Someone would care. Someone would stop it from happening again.

                That was how Remy LeBeau decided he was going to die…leaving a trail pointing back to his killers, and the killers of countless others…it wasn’t much of a penitence…not for what he’d done. Not for his selfishness and his stupidity…but was something. At least let this be for _something._

                Remy gripped the ladder with shaking hands. He didn’t possess super strength; he never had. But some higher power must have granted him some semblance of it for those few agonizing moments as he began to pull himself upward.

                There was no definition for pain like this. Remy was acutely aware of every nerve his body had ever possessed and all of them were screaming and burning like they were on fire. But he kept going, hand over hand, numb and rubbery legs attempting to keep his footing as he climbed higher. Blood gushed from his torso and between his legs. He was so damaged…he wasn’t even sure he was still whole. Pieces of him must surely be floating in the water. He didn’t look down to check. He kept his eyes fixed on the light above. It was like he was a lost soul trying to crawl out of the bowels of Hell itself.

                The noises were louder above him, there was movement and activity. Remy didn’t register this, not on a conscious level. All his focus, all his remaining energy was concentrating on moving forward, on not dying…not yet.

                He braced himself on the third rung and pushed on the grate. This actually produced a scream that came from so deep within him that he barely recognized the sound as his own…but it was worth the pain and effort. The grate slid away. He reached blindly into cold fresh air and white, shapeless light. He saw the sky, and heavy grey snow clouds.

”Help…!”

                It was all he had left. His body gave another gush of blood and he lost his grip, he slumped, sinking back down into the dark, falling away…

               

                A hand caught his with a shout. “I’VE GOT YOU!”

                Another hand came down and braced his arm and began to pull him up, Remy dangled for a moment and then felt himself pulled to the surface, those same hands grabbing him under his arms and wrapping around his back. “Oh my God! HANK! HANK I NEED YOU!”

                The voice belonged to a woman; dark skinned and lithe, with a shock of bright white hair. Her eyes were wide with concern as she looked down at him, spreading him out on the cold pavement beneath her.

                “Hank! Hank, hurry, I’ve got a man down! God, there is blood everywhere…! HENRY!” she kept shouting above him, over that strange faint roar and the sound of rushing feet and fighting and shouting from somewhere beyond his sight.

                She wore black and gold and white, and two gold lightning rods dangled from her ears. She covered him with something that had been draped from her wrists. She touched his hair and face, putting his head in her lap. “Sir? Sir, can you hear me? Stay with me, help is coming….”

                He clutched her hand and she held it back without hesitation. “Ambush…” Remy mumbled, the word coming out mumbled and whispered so that the woman had to lean in closer to hear him. “Help dem…please…all my fault…”

                The woman looked more closely at his face now, seeing the color of his eyes. “…is your name Remy? Remy LeBeau?” she asked quickly.

                He nodded faintly and the woman’s expression changed briefly to that of deep relief; “My name is Storm; do you remember me? I’m one of Logan’s friends. Do you remember Logan?”

                Gambit’s glazed eyes opened a little wider at the mention of the name and his blood slick fingers tightened around her palm. “Logan…?”

                There was a thudding of heavy footsteps and a shadow fell over them. Remy’s eyes slid towards a new shape, one that looked familiar. Gold eyes looked down at him, wide and concerned. For a moment Gambit thought he was looking up into the face of Hans and he jerked away reflexively.

Both Storm and blue furred mutant held him still, “Don’t be afraid, I’m a doctor, I’m here to help you.” The newcomer assured, voice softer, more relaxed in its dialect than Hans’ harsh pronunciations and accent.

The woman looked at him; “Hank, it’s Gambit. We’ve _found_ him.” She gasped. The doctor blinked down at Remy in great surprise for a moment before his features settled into firm lines of concentration. “Storm, put your hands here and push, try to stop the bleeding,” he instructed her, pulling something hurriedly from the hefty duffle bag beside him on the cement.

“Logan…where’s Logan?” Remy rasped, but Hank was putting something over his face, something clear. Remy felt a rush of fresh air rush into his mouth and nose and it made him light-headed.

“You’ll be with him soon,” Hank assured, “try to stay with me, Remy. I know it’s difficult. Can you move your legs at all?” he asked, calm and concise, thick, now gloved hands moving over Remy’s abdomen. The pressure made Remy winced and moan, and the cold was growing, he felt himself slipping.

“Hank, he’s fading…”

“He’s lost so much blood…Ororo, hand me that blanket, I’ve got to get him into the jet or we’re going to lose him.”

Remy felt himself wrapped in something scratchy and warm and then lifted. The jostling movement made him cry out and twitch, but Hank held him firmly. He was so blue, like the color of sapphires.

Someone was shouting at them, another man. Remy got a vague glimpse of him as Hank rushed towards the open hanger of a waiting jet plane. It all felt so surreal and disjointed, Remy wasn’t sure any of it was real. The pain and the cold was the only thread that kept him tethered to the here and now it seemed.

“Is Logan here? I want to see him before I go…”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Hank corrected, moving deeper into the hanger and placing Remy on an emergency medical bed that came down from the wall. More voices and Remy saw other figures, all wearing similar black and yellow uniforms with the letter X branded somewhere on each. Were these Logan’s X-Men? How had they gotten here, so soon? How had they found him?

“Remy, try to stay with me. I know it’s difficult, but I have to ask you what happened. Can you tell me?”

The oxygen mask was foggy and Remy felt tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes, his breath was hiccuping and erratic as he became more aware of his injuries. Hank eyed the profuse amount of blood that covered the man’s thighs and was quick to deduce the source, and though his face showed no outward signs of his distress, Gambit could feel it. The larger mutant put his hand on his forehead, looking at his face more closely; “Logan has told us so much about you; he’s never given up hope of finding you again. He’ll be so relieved to see you.”

“Will you tell him…tell him I tried to get back to him? Dat I love him…will you tell him for me?” Remy gasped, sobbing more though it took the little air he had and made everything hurt more.

“You’ll do that yourself.” Hank replied firmly.

The lights around them were too bright, objects were losing their sharpness, fading into smudged, shadowy blurs. Hank was shining a light in his eyes, but Gambit didn’t even blink or wince away, it was all slipping into darkness.

“Remy! Remy!”

 

***


	8. Chapter 8

                It was the longest day she could ever recall in her career as an X-Man. The body count in the tunnels was still rising, hours after the battle was over. Betsy, Dazzler, Angel, Colossus and Scott and few others had stayed behind to deal with the aftermath and were constantly sending reports back to them at the Mansion.

                She had never heard of the Morlocks until today; she had no idea that their community even existed. And now suddenly they were gone; slaughtered, wiped out. So far there were a handful of survivors, a child and couple adults with critical injuries. Pyslock said their seemed to be signs that a few might have managed to escape the massacre, but she couldn’t be sure.

                She’d been calling Logan’s cellphone for hours, but he wouldn’t pick up. The feral had all but dropped off the face of the earth since he left Westchester to look for Remy again, following scant leads from unsavory sources. Storm had begged to go with him, not wanting Logan to do this alone. The man had seemed so broken after New Orleans, in a way she had never witnessed before; she was afraid to let him go off alone.

                But she had lost her right to interject, to weigh her concerns against his reckless desires. She was still his friend; though most days they felt like strangers. She knew she had brought that upon herself; and she would always regret it.

                She was slumped in one of the arm chairs that sat just outside the medical bay within Hank’s lab, staring out the window at the lake and the grounds beyond the school. Beyond the frosted glass doors, she saw faint movements behind the blue curtain that shielded Gambit’s medical bed from the surrounding area.

                She’d been stunned if the man lived through the night; the image of his shredded skin and muscle and the way he was bathed in blood still fresh in her mind. She sipped at her coffee, which was stale and cold and pushed hair out of her eyes as she looked at her phone again. Still no answer from Logan.

                “Dammit,” she muttered, letting it fall onto the table next to her as she rubbed her eyes tiredly. If Remy died here and Logan never even had a chance to say goodbye…

                The door opened suddenly and the woman stood up, her oversized sweater slipping off her shoulder as she looked on nervously. Charles emerged in his chair, looking tired and harrowed. He looked up at her and gave her a quick nod, a thin smile on his lips; “Stabilized, at last.”

                Storm exhaled shakily; “Hank’s a miracle worker.”

                “Yes, he is.” Xavier nodded. “Any word from Wolverine yet?”

                “Nothing, he won’t answer. He might not even have his phone anymore, knowing him. Charles, you’ve got to find him, you’ve got to bring him back.”

                “I _have_ tried to reach out to him, Ororo, but something is blocking me out.”

                “Do you think he’s in trouble?” she asked nervously.

                “Knowing Logan, it’s very likely. But for the moment, I’m afraid, I must trust him to get out of it on his own. This attack takes precedence.”

                Storm wanted to argue with him, wanted to demand that he try harder, that he use Cerebro and at least _locate_ the man; she could handle it from there. But she knew he was right; Charles couldn’t afford to spread himself too thin; not when the culprits of his attack were still at large. He drew closer to her and took her hand; “Please trust me, I’m doing all I can. If I get the faintest signal from him, I will notify you at once.”

                “I know, Charles.” She looked back towards the door, catching signs of Hank moving about more freely.

                “I’m going to call a meeting of the staff shortly and brief them on the events. For now, I’ll ask you to stay with Hank and keep an eye on Mr. LeBeau. He seems comfortable with you.”

                The woman gave him a wondering glance, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t know,”

                “I do.” He answered, giving her a kind nod and excusing himself, leaving her alone in the little waiting area again. She sighed to herself, letting go of the pang of frustration that stabbed at her, knowing it was useless.

                She moved through the doors then and found Beast, sitting at his rolling desk, hastily typing something into his computer. “How’s our patient?” she asked, hoping to sound more optimistic than she felt just then.

                “Pulse has been normalized, breathing unassisted…I’m flushing his system with antibiotics to keep him from going completely septic; all that exposure to god knows what kind of bacteria in those tunnels. Surgery was successful, but there will be significant scaring…” He paused and removed his glasses from the wide bridge of his nose and exhaled shakily. It had been a long twelve hours. “He’s not out of the woods yet, but I like his chances better now.”

                She moved closer to him, putting a hand on his thick shoulder. “Then why are you making that face?”

                “I’ve…dealt with some rather vicious cases in my time. You see things that no text book ever prepares you for. But this…this _frightened_ me, Ororo. The nature of these wounds…this wasn’t a random attack. Whoever did this to him must have truly wanted him to suffer…”

                Storm wrapped her arms around him and hugged him close, pressing her head against his, and he reached up to return the gesture. “You saved him, Hank. He’ll be alright now.”

                “Physically, perhaps. But these injures…they suggest terrible things, Ro. Things that I can’t begin to understand or know how to help him cope with. How could anyone…?” Hank’s face crumbled and he covered it with his big paw; “The dark side of human nature is indeed bleak and vile. I am unequipped. I don’t know how to heal those kinds of scars.”

                Storm understood and held him tighter. She had guessed that Remy had met with an even more vile kind of violence by the state of his ruined clothes and by the blood that gushed down his thighs. She looked back across the room at Remy, who was small and pale, covered in bandages and wires and I.V.’s. It was hard to reconcile this frail figure with the man she’d seen in the streets of New Orleans, glowing and rising from the earth like a God. She trembled to think what Wolverine would do when he learned the extent of his injuries.

                Storm left Hank’s side, moving to stand beside Remy’s bed. The other mutant was deeply unconscious; Hank had placed him in a medically induced coma to allow him to heal from his extensive wounds. She felt drawn to him, like a moth to a flame, wishing she could somehow ease his pain. It was strange; the urge was always stronger the nearer she was to him.

                Hank drew up beside her and pulled her back then. “Best you not stand too close,” Beast explained. “It know it’s difficult…you feel compelled to protect him, don’t you?”

                She blinked. “Yes. How did you--?”

                “Apparently, it’s part of his mutation. His _Charm_ , I believe Logan called it once. Our new friend is an Empath, and it seems his powers are running somewhat unchecked in his vulnerable state.”

                “He’s in a coma, how can he be influencing anyone?” she balked.

                Beast shrugged, “I will know more when he recovers; but right now, I’m guessing Mr. LeBeau is a level four mutant, his powers are quite potent. And that’s only half of his abilities…the energy readings I’ve been detecting in his cellular structure…nothing short of fascinating. Even in his weakened state, he’s still creating enough energy to potentially power this entire building for months, maybe years. He keeps emitting little sparks of it now again…I’ve had to replace several pieces of equipment already.”

                “Is he dangerous?”

                Hank returned his glasses to his face and glanced upward, hands buried in the pockets of his lab coat. “Anyone can be dangerous, Storm.”

 

**

 

                The Professor gathered them in the War Room, the connecting hub between the Danger Room, the Medical Bay and Hank’s lab and Cerebro, in the lower levels of the mansion. Only half their number was present, the others only beginning their return from the Morlock tunnels, and others still searching for the culprits.

                Present now were Cyclops, Jean Grey, Beast and Storm, along with Shadow Cat, Ice Man, and newer recruits such as the young mutant named Nightcrawler, Rogue and Jubilee.

                “Thank you all for coming; I know we’ve had a trying couple of days and we are all exhausted. What happened in the Morlock tunnels can be called nothing less than a terrorist attack against the mutant race; it’s an atrocity, a travesty. One that leave a stain on our community for many years to come.” Xavier opened. He looked to Scott then; “Have you had any word from Betsy on the condition of the other survivors? Was Cecilia able to--?”

                Scott frowned quietly; “You’re down to one survivor, Professor. The little girl is in stable condition. The other two died of complications.”

                “I’m deeply saddened to hear that. Let us hope the child makes a full recovery.” He turned to Hank, who was standing next to him, looking worn and rumpled as he looked at his clip board. “Henry, what can you tell us about our other survivor?”

                “For those of you who don’t know,” Hank opened, “this young man is known to us; he’s the mutant that Logan has been searching for since the incident in New Orleans. His code name is Gambit; real name Remy LeBeau.” He touched something on his tablet and the screen behind him brought up a picture of Remy from his database. The man in the picture looked considerably younger than mutant who was now lying in his hospital bed; the photo must have been taken several years prior.

                “He’s a class four mutant, which is impressive; most class fours haven’t had the good fortune to go undetected by SHEILD and the government, which leads me to believe his powers are still growing. He’s an Empath, and also possesses the ability to create and charge objects with kinetic energy.”

                “What does that mean?” Jubilee asked.

                “It’s a bit like your own abilities,” Hank answered; “the energy accelerates the molecular structure of an object until it explodes.”

                “Cool,” Bobby grinned, and Scott and several others both frowned at him, making him sink back into his chair, arms folded. “What? It is.”

                “Be that as it may,” Charles continued, “Remy also possesses an added ability to Empathic powers; a sort of allure that allows him to gain trust and adoration; as well as other perhaps stronger feelings of affection and emotion from others.”

                “Logan called it his Charm,” Jubilee spoke up again. “Said it made him feel all warm inside, made him love sick and crazy.”

                “ _All_ southerners have that,” Rogue giggled, and Scott glared at them until they were quiet.

                “Unguarded, it could place any one of us in a highly suggestable state, even without Gambit’s intentions. Therefore, until he recovers, visitors will be limited to myself, Hank and Ororo; as so far they have shown some resilience to its affects.”

                Hank seemed to have already accepted this, as he was the man’s acting physician, but Storm seemed somewhat taken aback.

                “Has anyone figured out yet what he was _doing_ down in those tunnels?” Jean asked then, looking to Xavier. “The Morlocks are not people who generally accept or allow outsiders into their lair; and from what I can tell, Remy wasn’t one of them.”

                “I have looked into Remy’s mind upon his arrival; there are a great many details that need to be filled in, but I can say with complete confidence that he is no threat to us. In fact…I believe Remy might have been the reason I sent you to Manhattan when I did.”

                “What do you mean, Charles?”

                “I was using Cerebro at the time…trying to locate Wolverine. And I was suddenly overwhelmed by a voice crying out for help…crying out for someone to stop what was coming…it was a powerful energy signature, one that had been hidden from me until then. I believe it might very well have belonged to Remy.”

                “I felt it too,” Jean answered thoughtfully, “just before you called for us. I felt overwhelmed, helpless…do you really think it could have been him?”

“If he’s as powerful an Empath as I guess, then I have reason to believe so.”

“That still doesn’t explain what he was doing there in the first place,” Scott spoke up then, looking rather unmoved by the plight of the rescued mutant. “Logan said that Gambit was kidnapped by Sinister. People who are taken by him don’t just suddenly reappear; they vanish, like they never existed. We know what Sinister does to other mutants; we know he experiments on them, or recruits them as thugs.”

                He pulled a flash drive from his pocket and handed it to Hank, who connected it to his tablet and watched as Scott brought up several files on the screen. More pictures of Remy, which seemed to be a bit more recent…mug shots, surveillance videos, police records…along with several suggestive photos that were recovered from security cameras of Gambit “entertaining” other men.

                Both Jubilee and Rogue stared and then looked away blushing, while Bobby couldn’t look away. Hank frowned deeply and removed the photos from view, leaving only the mugshot present. “What is this?” he snapped.

                “I went digging into ‘Gambit’s’past, not long after Wolverine came back. He’s wanted in New Orleans for larceny, grand theft, and prostitution. The guy’s a con-man, using his _Charm_ to weasel tourist out of their money and playing fixed card games, when he’s not stealing from the Louisiana upper class. I even found a report that he’s stolen from government facilities, including places like Stark Industries and OsCorp; supposedly stealing weapons and tech that can be mass produced. Now you tell me what one mutant, who can explode things with a single touch, would need with something like that?” He looked around at their shocked expressions, feeling somewhat smug. “I think he had Logan fooled; and we’re all about to fall into the same trap.”

                “Scott, sit down.” Xavier replied, looking sternly at his pupil.

                “Professor, we _can’t_ trust him. You said it yourself, we can’t even be alone in a room with him without the possibility of being hypnotized by him? How do we know anything Wolverine said about him was the truth? It could have all been a fantasy the guy made up—“

                _“Scott_ , sit down and _shut up!_ ” Xavier commanded then, startling all of them. Cyclops paled, blinking at his mentor and father figure with wide eyes behind the lenses of his visor.

                “But Professor—“

                “I won’t hear another word. You have no idea what you’re talking about! I have looked into this man’s mind, and I have seen all his deeds laid bare. Not all mutants have had the privileges _you_ have had; not all are so deeply fortunate to have secure homes, supportive family members and friends, _options._ I have looked into this man’s mind and seen things that you yourself could not have _hoped_ to have weathered; abuse and hopeless so profound it would debilitate a sheltered child like yourself, so don’t you _dare_ stand here and speak to me as I am a trusting old fool!”

                No one spoke for several seconds, the room hung in dead, heated silence. Scott slowly sunk into his chair, eyes on the floor and Jean reached for his hand. Hank’s thick palm found Charles’ shoulder and squeezed it gently. “Charles…”

                Xavier exhaled deeply, looking tired. “Remy is no threat to us. Whatever sins his past may hold are not for us to judge. We all come here to find community, equality, respect and support. I expect you all to show him exactly that, just as it has been shown to each of you. And please… _trust_ me.”

                “Is that all, Professor?” Ororo asked softly.

                “Yes.”

                The others left the room in quiet haste, Scott and Jean being the last to leave, while Hank and Ororo remained behind with Xavier.

                Storm sat herself down slowly, feeling a small pinch of satisfaction that Scott had been put in his place, even if had been a bit harsh. She knew Cyclops really did have the team’s best interest at heart, and she knew that his past with Sinister made him even more wary than others. But she also knew that some of his suspicions came from a less noble place; a place that was still looking to tear down Wolverine’s credibility.

                Hank reached for the water pitcher on the table and poured his old friend a glass, which the smaller man took at length. “While I agree with you, Charles, I think you may have been a bit…”

                “Yes, I know. I will apologize to him.” Xavier sighed.

                Hank looked at him sympathetically. “I know what you must be thinking…but it couldn’t be as bad as Eric. Charles…what did you see in Remy’s mind?”

                Xavier looked at him with tired eyes; the last sixteen hours had stretched him thin. “I can’t tell you that, Henry. It’s not my place. All I can say to you is that he’s going to need all the support we can give him. I won’t let another one fall through the cracks.”

 

***


	9. Chapter 9

 

***

 

                Hank was starting to look…matted. There were bags under his eyes, but you couldn’t tell. He’d been taking forty-five minute naps three times a day for the last four days; every other second was spent either monitoring Gambit or conversing with Cecilia about her findings in the victims of the massacre.

                Still no word from Logan. It seemed like the man had fallen off the face of the Earth. The idea frustrated and worried Hank deeply. He began to wonder what could have happened to Logan; where he could possibly be that not even Cerebro could locate him. What if his friend had been captured by Magneto; The Brotherhood, or worse? What he needed his help and he sat here and did nothing? He’d never forgive himself.

                But he if went, and left Gambit, who was still a fragile state of recovery in less capable hands…Logan would never forgive him.

                Resigning himself to his fate for the moment, he turned away from his charts and autopsy reports and made his way back over to his patient. Upon nearing his bedside, Hank felt that warm pull of the man’s influence wash over him. It made him want to lie down beside him and hold him until the darkness had passed. But Hank was used to it now and was able to work through it undaunted. All of Remy’s vital signs were strong and even. He changed his bandages and studied the progress of his wounds; all closing nicely. The scars were inevitable (the slashes were so deep and ragged that Hank was almost uncertain he would be able to close them without grafting skin from somewhere else) but they would shrink with time. Remy was fortunate.

                The doors slid open and he heard familiar heels on the tile floor. He turned expectantly towards Ororo as she entered the room. The woman was looking as tired as he felt; but with much more grace. She wore jeans and an old band t-shirt, her hair draped down one side of her head. She presented him with a fresh and very large cup of coffee and a donut.

                “Supper time, get it while it’s hot.” She said, forcing a little smile. He’d seen less and less of those from her these days.

                Hank took the offerings gratefully, pausing a moment to breath in the smell of fresh brewed caffeine before taking a hefty swallow. “Sweet Lady Caffeine; I am ever your eager slave. Thank you, Ororo, I was in desperate need.”

                She nodded and stroked his tufted cheek; “You’re due for a cat nap;” she reminded him. “Longer than a half hour this time.”

                Hank was already half way through his cup and shook his head; “No, not now I’m afraid. I’ve just reduced his sedative again. It could be any time now before he starts to regain consciousness and I insist upon being present.”

                “Hank, you’re not eating, you barely sleep…I promise, I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

                She sat down in the chair next to Gambit’s bed and looked him over for a moment before leaning over to brush his unwashed, limp hair from his face. Even under the bruises and scratches, he really was very handsome. Of course, that might also be his Charm doing some of the talking. Ro had gotten used to needing to shower or retreat to her room after long vigils. Logan probably never stood a chance with this one.

                She took out her phone and glanced at it again. No incoming calls. She had stopped calling Logan’s phone. The last message she had received from it said that it was no longer in service. She tried not to look worried, but Hank could smell it on her.

                “I’ll be fine for a little while longer,” he insisted. They sat in silence for a moment or two, and then Hank spoke again. “When are you leaving?”

                She looked up at him in surprise, though one familiar glance from him reminded her that she had no secrets from Hank McCoy. “In the morning, most likely. I have to know he’s alright and bring him back before…” she bit her lip lightly, catching herself. “Is he going to make it?”

                “Barring any major complications…I think so.”

                The two sat in silence for a moment, and both realized they were thinking the same sad, selfish thought. When Logan returned and was finally reunited with Remy…that would be it. No more chances for reconciliation, or rekindling the flame that had died too soon. Logan’s heart clearly belonged elsewhere now.

                Ororo sighed deeply, pushing down her own regret for the moment, though it kept rising in her throat and making her feel less than herself. “Are you doing okay? I have my classes and the team…but you’ve barely left this room. Do you need to talk?”

                He lifted himself stiffly from his chair, cracking his back and made his way back to his desk. “I fail to see what there is to talk about.”

                She studied him for a moment then spoke measuredly; “How can you pretend like it doesn’t matter to you?”

                “I’m a physician first and foremost. Whatever personal feelings I have about his presence here are irrelevant.”

                “Don’t give me that, Hank. It’s just the two of us right now,” she reminded him. “If anyone would understand…it would be me.” She sat her cup aside and stood up, moving away from Remy as if she were afraid he might overhear her. “You’re always so careful not to talk about him. But I know you think about him all the time. I can see it in your face, in your eyes. You still have pictures in your room.”

                Hank frowned. “That’s none of your business.”

                “You still love him, Henry.”

                “He and I never said as much. I care for Logan; he’s my friend. But I never said that I loved him.” The words were calm, but only on the surface. He looked at her more closely then, almost glaring. “I didn’t have the kind of connection you had with him, nor the kind of time. I knew what I stood to lose when I left for Washington…just as you surely must have known when you left for Wakanda.”

                She stiffened a little. “You’re right. We _both_ abandoned him.”

                They stared at each other for a moment, each holding their breath. Hank was the first to turn away, settling down in front of his laptop again. “Thank you for the coffee, Ororo. You’d better get some rest before your flight.”

                She wrapped her arms around herself, nails digging into her arms as she stood there, looking stubborn and stoic. She wanted to apologize, she wanted to move past this lump she felt in her throat and explain that she was feeling just as conflicted and confused about Remy’s presence as he must be. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t bring herself to say any of it just then. So she turned and excused herself, careful not to let him see how her eyes were welling up as she left the room.

                The moment her scent faded, Hank let out a long suffering moan and put his head in his hands. This was hard; harder than it should have been. He knew Storm was simply trying to reach out to him, looking for a hand to hold. Her unceremonious dissolution with Logan was far more recent; her wounds were still fresh when he’d left for New Orleans six months ago.

                But Hank couldn’t be the one for her to lean on this time. She didn’t realize that despite the time that had passed, his own pangs of regret were still as sharp as hers. He’d come back from Washington, hoping to start over again, hoping to pick up where he had left off. It had been foolish of him; naïve. Why did he ever expect Wolverine to _wait_ for him, especially since they had never defined their relationship as anything more significant than friends with benefits?

                He didn’t blame Logan, or Ororo. He could blame no one but himself. And it hurt him, more than he realized, to see exactly how much Wolverine had moved on. To see the way he was so desperate to find Remy; the way he’d crossed so many miles on the slim chance that he would find him again…

                Hank knew he had been right to let Logan go. But it didn’t make the process any less painful.

                As he attempted to busy himself and refocus his thoughts; a new fear crept into his mind; how was he going to tell Logan what had happened to Gambit?

                All the signs were there; surely the feral would demand to know, and he wouldn’t accept anything less than the truth from Beast either. Not after all they had been through.

                Worse than that; days later, they were no closer to determining who had been behind the attack, or even how Gambit’s assault played into it all. He had no answers to give him, and that cut him deeply. He felt like he was letting Logan down all over again.

                Hank felt helpless. Of all the members of the team, he was perhaps the one most deeply rooted within the school, his forte being in science and academia…not battling the problem on the front lines, except in extreme cases. But times like these…he could barely contain that deeply buried rage inside of him. He wanted to _punish_ the people who had done this; to make them suffer the same agonizes they had visited upon innocents. But his logical side revolted at the idea and pushed it down again with a hefty sigh.

                He was a healer, not a soldier. A teacher, not a thug…

                Logan would think him a coward. He sunk his head into his hand and let out a mournful little whimper.

                The heart monitor began to quicken its pace, catching Hank’s attention. He rubbed his blood shot eyes and looked at the monitor more closely. Remy’s breathing was increasing too, so was his brain activity. He was coming around, finally.

                The blue furred mutant shrugged off his exhaustion and staid right beside him, keeping a sharp eye on his vital signs as Remy started to regain consciousness. He put his hand over his patient’s and gave an encouraging little squeeze.

               

                Remy didn’t immediately register that he was in fact awake; this dream simply felt different from the others he’d been having. He felt heavy, sick and numb…like he’d been lying in bed for too long and now he was more tired than he was when he’d fallen asleep.

                He peeked out from under the veil of his eye lashing, seeing light and color but recognizing none of it at first. He asked himself what it was he was looking at…something big a blue and bushy, with warm amber eyes….

                “Remy? Are you with me?”

                He sucked in a startled breath of air as his eyes finally began to focus. He would have flinched, sure he was back in Sinister’s clutches with Hans standing over him; but the warmth and genuine concern he felt from the other man made him recognize the difference.

                Beast smiled at him; “You’re alright now, my friend. I’m Dr. McCoy…do you remember me?”

                The auburn haired man nodded faintly and Hank’s smile widened a little. “That’s very encouraging. I promise you that you’re safe; you’re at the Xavier Institute in Westchester New York, and we’re going to take good care of you.”

“How’d I get here?” Remy mumbled, so softly Beast had to lean in closer to understand. He tried to push himself up in bed, but even the faintest movement seemed too monumental a task. “We flew you here from Manhattan. You may feel a bit sick, a bit groggy; you’ve been under heavy sedation for several days in order to let your body heal.”

Remy tried to wrap his head around this, brow furrowing. He felt so stiff and heavy…and sore. Sore everywhere, but especially everything below his chest. “Logan,” he mumbled then, as if suddenly remembering. “Can I see Logan now?”

Hank’s eyes fell and Remy felt a pang of sadness, undercut by something akin to envy, but paler. “We’re doing all we can to locate him and let him know that you’re here. He’ll be with you soon though, never fear.”

The man in the bed looked lost then, empty eyed and confused. His mind was still struggling past all the drugs in his system, still trying to catch up with itself and it made his thoughts sluggish, though it did nothing to slow his emotional state. His eyes became wet and he stared to cry, though he didn’t seem to be in control or even fully aware of it. “Well you…tell him I’m sorry? I didn’t want dis to happen…I didn’t want any of it to happen…”

“Hush,” mumbled, gripping his hand. “Of course you didn’t. Don’t worry about anything, Remy, you’re safe here, Logan will be with you soon. He’ll be so happy to see you.”

Gambit shook his head, “Non…non not after what I done…not after what he did to me…”

Hank winced, feeling his chest pinch. Remy’s Empathy was out of control, he could feel the man’s shame, his fear, his pain, all raw in his drugged state. The doctor struggled to keep his composure and remain calm in the face of his patient’s lack of control, but it got the better of him. He put his big arms around Remy and hugged him carefully.

“Logan loves you. I know that without a single doubt. No matter what happened to you, I promise he will feel the same. None of this was your fault!”

The Cajun was tense, and his demeanor was changing from subdued confusion and fear to outrage and humiliation. He started to remember, in broken pieces, what had brought him here, and it utterly terrified him. “Yes it was…I was stupid and selfish…why didn’t I fight harder? Why didn’t I see what he was going to do!? Why!?” sparks flew from his hands and he started to scratch at himself, trying to get free, but Hank caught his hands, feeling the tingle of his energy ripple through him like a sharp static shock.

“Don’t, you’ll hurt yourself! Please try to relax--”

Remy sobbed and Hank held onto him, trying to regain control, but the tighter he held the more Remy thrashed until he began to see blood on his bandages.

“GET OFF ME! DON’T TOUCH ME! _DON’T TOUCH ME!”_

The monitor began to beep more loudly, and his patient’s breathing began to seem labored and choked through his sobs. McCoy detached himself with some effort and tried to assess the situation. Gambit’s distress was putting too much stress on him, he was in very real danger of putting himself back into critical condition. The Cajun was yanking at his sensors and IV lines, ripping things out of his skin as he struggled to get out of bed. He screamed as his stomach wounds pulled and pinched, causing another gush of blood that soaked his bandages. Hank grabbed him, trying to hold him back, and another surge of energy crackling from Remy's figure singed his fur and caused his glasses to crack and shatter, so that he had to shake them from his face.

He heard the door open and shouted to whoever it was; _“A little assistance please!”_

Storm was beside him suddenly, eyes wide, grabbing Remy’s forearms and flattening the man to the bed as Hank managed to wrench away, rushing for his rolling drawer of supplies. The air around them started to crackle with Remy’s energy as he thrashed, and the light above them went out with a pop and a flash.

“What the hell is happening!?” Storm shouted.

“I need to sedate him; don’t let him—!“

Remy grabbed one of Storm’s bracelets and exploded in a pop, burning her arm. She cried out and pulled back for a moment, wincing.

“Ororo!”

_“Remy, you must calm down.”_

Gambit’s eyes widened, hearing the voice in his mind, a voice he hadn’t heard before. He winced and fell away from Storm, grabbing his own head instead of the equipment.

_“Who are you? Get out!”_

_“You must calm yourself,”_ Xavier’s voice continued, slow and quiet, perfectly at ease though it still carried a sense of command. _“My name is Charles; this is my school. I know you don’t want to hurt anyone here; and no harm will come to you. Relax…you’ve been through so much, I know that it is difficult not be afraid. Trust your senses; they’ll tell you everything you need to know.”_

He sagged in the bed, finally ceasing his frantic movements. Hank was on him instantly, emptying a syringe into his I.V., a hand pressed nervously over his torso in case he tried to escape again. But Remy only looked at him now, as if really seeing him for the first time.

“Desole…” he mumbled. “I got scared…I didn’t mean it.” He looked to the woman who appeared beside him, and mournfully brushed her arm, “I’m so sorry.”

She felt him reaching out to her, sensed his fear and confusion and his wary curiosity. Ororo felt his influence like it was a warm current washing over her, and she softened, realizing he was no longer a threat. His mind was fragmented by the trauma he’d endured; his instincts were acting independently, trying to keep him alive. He was searching for something to ground him and lead him back through that fog, back to himself.

She gripped his hand in hers; “It’s alright. Hush now. We’ve got you.”

Remy stared at her until his eyes slid closed again. Hank exhaled shakily and dropped back against the wall, looking at his skewed and tattered equipment with wide eyes before turning back to Storm.

The white haired woman was still holding Remy’s hand, watching him, before turning her gaze back to Beast.

“I can’t do this alone.” The blue furred man gulped. “Please, Ro.”

She nodded.

 

**

 

                The day began again, bright and cold with clouds promising snow showers on the horizon. Hank was asleep on a couch in his seating area. It had taken herself and Charles to calm the man down and collect himself after the incident.

                Charles explained that Hank’s resilience to Gambit’s Charm and Empathy was a matter of will, rather than a natural ability. In fact, having heightened feral senses, Hank was naturally more vulnerable to Gambit’s powers than others. So he had been affected deeply by the man’s outburst, leaving him quite shaken and unsettled. His lack of sleep didn’t help things either.

                Storm looked at him, tucking a blanket closer around him and stroking down his thick mane of blue hair lovingly. She knew she wasn’t going anywhere; at least not until Remy was more stable. She looked down at her bandaged arm; the burns were minor and would heal in a week or so. But she knew she had gotten off lucky…a bigger charge of the man’s energy could have easily left her without a limb.

                With Hank resting comfortably, she returned to her own post at Gambit’s bedside. She was startled to find that the man’s eyes were open, and he seemed to be staring off at the wall, daydreaming. He tensed a little as she entered the room again, and she remained perfectly still for a moment.

                “Remy? How are you feeling?” she asked measuredly.

                “…like I’ve been whipped, hogtied, drug behind a truck for a few miles down a gravel road, and left in the bayou for de gators…” he muttered with a little smirk in the corner of his mouth. “How am I supposed to feel?”

                She smiled, feeling a little bit of nervousness dissipate at his attempt at humor. “I’d say that’s probably pretty accurate.” She answered, moving to the foot of his bed. “My name’s Ororo. Do you remember me?”

                He nodded slowly, then his black and red eyes trailed to her arm and he frowned; “I…I did dat, didn’t I?” he asked, pointing at her bandaged wrist.

                “You don’t remember?”

                “It’s all a little fuzzy,” he amended, rubbing his head, wincing. “I’m awful sorry if I did. I…I don’t want to hurt nobody. Especially ya'll.”

                “We know.”

                “I didn’t hurt dat other fella did I? Seems like I gave him a fright…” he looked around himself slowly, as if really registering his surroundings for the first time. “Am I in a hospital?”

                “Hank will be fine, he just needs to catch up on some sleep. This is the Medical Bay; our facility is fully equipped for all medical emergencies. You’re still at the Institute, not to worry.” She sat down slowly in her chair beside him, watching him, wary and uncertain, but trying to put her best face forward. “Is there anything I can get you? Anything you need?”

                The auburn haired man slowly shook his head, “I just feel numb and dumb right now, cher…can’t t’ink of a thing to want…just don’t want to hurt no more.” He glanced at the clock on the wall, as if he were trying to make sense of it. “What day is it?”

                “Tuesday. It’s been about four hours since you were last awake. About four days since we brought you here.”

                The man in the bed nodded thoughtfully, trying to reconcile it in his mind. He glanced down at his blankets and started to lift them, looking down at his heavily bandaged torso, seeing tubing tapped to him under what felt like six inches of gauze and cotton padding and surgical tape. He could barely feel his lower half; and that was probably for the best.

                “Guess it’s a good t’ing it’s not swim suit season…” he muttered, and she giggled, making him look up at her.

                “You’re funny. Logan didn’t mention that.”

                Just the mention of his name made the Cajun’s eyes lit up. “Logan told you about me?”

                Storm nodded; “The man could write sonnets about you, Mr. LeBeau, if he tried. You’ve become somewhat of a legend around here.”

                He seemed confused by this statement, his brow furrowing. Storm studied his features, the sharpness of his cheek bones and narrow jaw, and how his eyes were soft and seemed slightly too big, making him seem somehow younger than he probably was; sweeter and sadder at the same time. The scratches and healing bruises on his face only exaggerated the fact, making him somehow look hard and foreboding, but fragile all at once.

                She realized she was looking a bit too intently for too long then, because he sunk back in the bed, looking wary. “You okay, ma cherie?” he asked.

                “I’m fine,” Ororo answered quickly. “You’re just…forgive me; it’s strange to be this close to you. You haven’t seemed real to me; not until now.”

                Again he looked at her with confusion and Storm tried to clear her head; “After you disappeared in New Orleans, Logan was devastated. We searched the city, but found nothing. It was almost like you were never really there; like he had dreamed you up.” She paused again, “What happened to you?”

                Gambit didn’t know if he should answer her, studying her now in the same manner she had. She was very beautiful, an exciting combination of dangerous and regal, with her long neck and her sharp eyes, her wild white hair that stood up starkly in the middle of her otherwise bald head; seeming to defy gravity in the most alluring way possible. And despite her outward apprehension, he sensed that she truly wanted to help him; and learn more about him.

                “It’s…a long story.”

                “It always is.” She replied, putting her hand lightly on his knee.

                “Is…Logan here? Will I see him soon?”

                “We haven’t been able to reach him,” she answered, not knowing if she should admit that there was a very real chance that Logan was actually missing, rather than just unreachable. “But he’ll turn up soon. Someone will have gotten word to him that you’re here.”

                She expected to see him lit up, to look relieved, pleased, perhaps even smug. Instead he only looked nervous, sinking back against his pillows. “He’s alright, isn’t he?”

                Storm looked away, lifting herself from her seat and moving towards the counter. She didn’t want Remy to see the worry on her face, and hoped that his empathy wouldn’t be able to pick up as easily at a distance. “Of course he is. Wolverine is…not an easy man to pin down. He may be lying low somewhere…after what happened in the tunnels, the whole mutant community is on high alert. There’s been riots, protesters…and of course every mutant hating nut-job trying to take credit for it. You’re very lucky, Remy. If I hadn’t seen your hand…our survivor total might be zero.”

                Gambit went disturbingly quiet.

                Storm looked back at him, giving up her search for distraction. “Remy?”

                “Dey….dey’re all dead?” he whispered.

                She nodded sadly. “Other than you, yes…there was another, a little girl. Scott seems to think there might have been some that escaped before the fight started, but we’ve yet locate them. They were able to pull the child from the scene; she had only minor injuries, thank goodness. We’re looking for temporary placement for her, but it’s difficult with her mutation…Remy?”

                Gambit covered his face with his hands as he stretched back in his bed, head titled towards the ceiling. “Mon Dieu….”

                She moved closer to him again, “You didn’t know. What am I thinking? Of course you couldn’t have…I’m sorry.”

                The other mutant said nothing for a time, then finally lifted his head. His eyes were wet and shining, but his expression was hard. “Sinister.”

                “What?”

                “He’s responsible. Sinister’s de man you want.”

                Storm blinked, not sure what to make of his declaration, or even if it could be completely trusted, considering all he had been through. “Was Sinister the reason you were in the tunnels?”

                Gambit nodded, though his stomach was in knots and he felt bile in his throat. His mouth was a thin pale line; he couldn’t bring himself to say more, to actually speak the part he had played in this travesty. He closed his eyes, trying to keep the tears and the rage back. He felt so heavy with it that it seemed it might actually crush him.

                He felt her lips on his forehead. “You brought us there, Remy. Charles heard you crying out for help…if it weren’t for you, that little girl might not be alive. You’re a hero.” She kissed his cheek; “I’ll be right back, okay?”

                He nodded mutely and watched her leave, knowing he would never be able to tell her the truth.

 

***


	10. Chapter 10

 

***

 

                Scott found himself feeling more restless than usual. His guard was up all the time now; he slept little and trained harder, pushing his limits each time. He felt he had to be prepared for anything. Logan was still missing, and the body count from the massacre had reached four hundred. The school didn’t feel safe. The world didn’t feel safe; though really it never had. Not for him.

                Scott realized that some of the things Xavier had said during his outbursts were in fact correct; he’d been amazingly fortunate, where so many others had not. If Charles had not come to Scott after his parent’s accident, after he’d lost his brother…Scott very easily could have ended up in Remy’s shoes.

                This should have inspired sympathy from Scott, but instead it made him all the more leery of the injured mutant who was recovering inside their walls. Gambit had been kept under close observation, and no one had been permitted within the Medical Bay except for Ororo and Xavier.

                Scott began to worry, ever since Storm had confirmed through Remy that Sinister was behind the massacre. What if Gambit wasn’t as much of a victim as everyone thought? It didn’t seem to make sense that he was so separated from the others. What if he was a decoy, or worse a spy? The idea made his skin crawl.

                Sinister had come so close to taking him as a child…he still had nightmares occasionally, waking up in that hospital bed with that man lurking over him, pretending to be his doctor, his _friend._

                “Scott?”

                Summers blinked, dragged away from his thoughts back to reality. He’d been eating lunch with Bobby and Kitty, who were both looking at him in concern. Bobby waved his hand in front of Scott’s face; “Whoo-hoo, Earth to Scott? You in there?”

                Cyclops swatted him away. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I was just thinking about something.”

                “Dude, you’ve had the thousand yard stare on for _days_ now. Don’t think we don’t notice, just because of your visor. What’s eating you?”

                Kitty elbowed him, as if she couldn’t believe Bobby would ask, considering everything they had been dealing with for the last week and a half. “Scott’s got a lot on his mind,” she chided. “Leave him alone.”

                “Its fine,” the older man said, standing up and leaving his plate of food untouched. Bobby stood up too, seeming anxious at the idea of Scott leaving. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

                “I’m not hungry.”

                “I’ll take it!” Kurt called suddenly, appearing in a flash of smoke next to Kitty. He quickly scooped up Scott’s uneaten sandwich and took a hefty bite. “Sorry, just got done in ze Danger Room with Rogue and Warren. I would eat anyt’ing you put in front of me right now.”

                Kitty shook her head, but Bobby was already up and trailing after Cyclops. He caught up to the man as he left the kitchen, making his way down the corridors towards the stairs that lead to the lower level of the building, where Hank’s lab was located.

                “You aren’t going to the lab are you? The Professor said we shouldn’t…” Bobby found himself asking as he kept at Scott’s heels. The brunette frowned.

                “I know what the Professor said, Bobby. But this is my team; I have a right to know what’s going on with Gambit.”

                “But what about his Charm-whatever?”

                “I’ll be fine.”

                “Scott, I know you’re worried—“

                “You’re damn right I’m worried!” he snapped then, turning on the younger man, who looked at him with startled blue eyes. “Logan’s _missing_ Bobby; and the man he’s been completely obsessed with for months, whom he’s been trying to track all over the damn country suddenly falls into our lap. I find that very suspicious.”

                “Well, he’d didn’t just show up, I mean…he was dying in a sewer.”

                “What was he doing down there in the first place is the question.”

                Ice Man was at a loss, shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe Sinister wanted to get rid of him…that’s what I heard Storm saying to the Professor.”

                Scott looked at him a little closer and Bobby felt his face flush hotly under the intense gaze. “Wait, Storm knows? She didn’t say anything to me about this. When did she find this out?”

                Bobby stammered, licking his lips nervously. Scott was so close to him now, and it made him flustered and nervous. Without meaning to, he shifted into Ice form, which made the man step back. “Sorry, I didn’t know you didn’t know. Let’s just chill out, okay?” he chuckled.

                But Scott wasn’t in the mood for his humor, and turned away, continuing to march down the stairwell until he came to the lower level and put in his access code. Bobby continued to trial behind him nervously.

                “Scott? Scott, don’t go in there. I mean, the guy was in pretty bad shape, interrogating him seems like a bad idea.”

                Cyclops ignored him and made his way into the lab. Bobby made to reach out and grab him, to pull him back and snap him out of this, but he hesitated, standing nervously in the lobby of the wide medical facility.

                Scott made his way through the frosted doors into the rooms beyond. Remy was the only patient, and had been moved from the emergency section to a more private a “room” a little further into the lab. He expected Hank to come baring down on him, big, blue and blustering about protocol and safety and blah blah blah, but Beast was nowhere in sight.

                There were three sectioned off rooms, each with large clear windows that allowed Hank to easily monitor each patient inside. Two were dark and empty, but the third had the privacy curtains partially drawn, and Scott could hear music playing inside. He braced himself as he came to the door; not sure what he expected to find. He was so wired with anxiety and frustration that he half expected to find Sinister himself sitting there, waiting for him.

                Gambit was propped up in his bed; no longer wearing a hospital gown, but a blue Xavier Institute T-Shirt and grey sweat pants, his hair tied back in messy ponytail at the top of his head, though it didn’t keep the shorter rusty brown strands out of his eyes. He was still hooked up a plethora of IV’s, and bandages still adorned his face, arms and legs, though they were smaller and fewer now, allowing Scott to see his features better.

                He was humming to the music and playing with a deck of cards, long nimble fingers flying over the smooth surfaces, making them flip over without seeming to touch them at all. He looked up in surprise when Scott entered his doorway.

                “Um….oui? Can I help you?” Remy asked.

                Scott stared, mute and dumbfounded, his rage suddenly forgotten. Remy’s Charm hit him like a sudden, hot gust of wind. He hadn’t really gotten a good look at Gambit since they’d brought him to Westchester; and then he had practically been a pale, blood covered corpse.

                The picture of Remy in his mind had been comprised of those he’d found in his research. But none of them really compared to the image in front of him right now. “M’sieur? You alright?”

                Scott blinked back to himself, realizing the other mutant was staring at him in concern and confusion. “Are you lost?” he asked, smiling a little bit. “Wish I could help, but haven’t seen much outside dis room and de one beyond. But I can help you find de restroom…”

                The taller X-Man moved forward, coming to stand at Remy’s beside. “Sorry, I hope I didn’t startle you,” he said smoothly, smiling down at him. “I was just coming to check in; I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Scott Summers, also known as Cyclops. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

                The auburn haired southerner blinked and then smiled a little bigger, seeming to bite back a chuckle. “Um, I’m afraid not, M’sieur. But it’s a pleasure to meet you all de same,” Remy answered, extending his hand.

                Scott took it and shook it firmly, but seemed reluctant to let go, clasping Remy’s hand in both of his as he sat down on the edge of the bed, looking more closely at the man with rapt curiosity. “Hank’s been taking good care of you, I see. You had us all pretty worried. Anything I can get you?”

                Remy of course, knew exactly what was happening and he cringed a little on the other man’s behalf, finally pulling his hand free. “Merci, but I’m fine. Um….pardon, homme, but…dey did tell you about my powers, non?”

                “Hmm? Oh yes.” Scott nodded, though his gaze hadn’t lifted.

                “I’m so sorry,” Remy continued, trying not to laugh at the man’s expense, and not just because it hurt him to do so. “My Charm tends to make people go a little… _funny_ de first time dey come across it. I haven’t been able to keep it as muffled as I usually do.”

                “It’s fine,” Scott grinned, smiling too much and leaning too close. “Logan told us all about it…though honestly, I don’t think his descriptions of you did you justice. I had someone very different pictured, but you’re….you’re…” He looked Gambit up and down, drinking in his sharp angles and the little details; the faintly red stubble on his jaw and upper lip, the radiant color of his ruby eyes, the length of his neck…

                Scott was vaguely aware that he was acting like a total fool, but couldn’t will himself to stop. He hadn’t felt attraction to another man since Logan. He had almost began to wonder if it wasn’t a fluke, that his lust for Wolverine was just some strange aberration… but Remy had just proved him wrong. The man was handsome and lean, more delicate looking that Logan of course, but every bit as masculine. Scott wanted to touch him, kiss him, to peel off the bandages and see what was underneath. And worst of all, he wasn’t able to _hide_ these thoughts, or push them down as wild impulses. There were all right there at the surface, waiting to gush forward.

                “I guess I was expecting someone more…wicked looking. You don’t look like the type of guy who’d be into someone like Wolverine. I mean, sure, he’s hot and all…if you like short and hairy and mean looking. But you, you look like you should be with someone with more…class. Someone a bit more clean cut, maybe a man in uniform…”

                Remy was biting his tongue to keep from laughing, but it was a losing battle.

                “Maybe you’ve seen pictures in the paper, I’m the guy in the blue, with the visor…obviously. But don’t be put off by that, I have these special sunglasses for when I’m not in combat gear.” He grinned stupidly. “I’m told I’m pretty cute in glasses. Logan would look _terrible_ in glasses. I’m…I’m clearly hotter than Logan, come on.”

                Remy laughed this time and winced painfully at the way it made all his wounds ache. Scott reached to brace him, settling him back against the mattress. “Easy there! I don’t want you to overdo it…you really went through hell didn’t you?” he asked, looking again at the man’s lingering wounds.

                “I’ll be alright. Thanks to your Dr. McCoy. He’s taken such good care of me; I don’t t’ink dere would be much hope for me wit’out him.” Remy said, and Scott felt a pang of jealousy.

                “Yeah…Hank’s the best….” He muttered. “But Hank’s not much of a conversationalist. I mean, he’s so smart when it comes to this sort of thing, but once you’re out of here and feeling better; I’d be happy to show you around the school, help you settle in and get more comfortable…”

                Scott’s hand was on his arm, and Remy did his best not to tense. For the moment, he felt no immediate danger from Cyclops, but he knew he had to break the spell his Charm was casting over the man before it went any further. “Dat’s very generous of you, homme…but I’m sure Logan will do dat when he comes back.”

                At the mention of Wolverine, the brunette drew back, blinking. Remy breathed a little easier, but the relief was momentary. Scott frowned, looking mildly vexed at the mention of his other teammate. “Yeah…I’m sure he will. But we may not see him for awhile.”

                “What? Why?”

                “Well, we haven’t found him yet. He’s missing. Didn’t Storm tell you that? She seems to be full of information these days…” He didn’t know why he was suddenly feeling so vindictive, so jealous, but he was, and he couldn’t seem to wrangle it in. He hated the idea that Remy fixating on Wolverine…though just at the moment, he didn’t know which of them he was more jealous of.

                “Missing?” Remy breathed, suddenly looking tense and fearful. “He can’t be…he could be in trouble. Please,” he pulled himself upward, grabbing Scott’s shoulder for support without thinking. Cyclops wrapped his arm around him, pulling the bedridden man closer, feeling suddenly protective. “You have to find him. Sinister knows about him, he might have tried to take him!”

                “Logan can take care of himself,” Scott muttered.

                “Non, you don’t understand…please, Scott, you have to listen to me. If Sinister captures Wolverine—“

                Scott wasn’t listening. He didn’t care what happened to Logan just then. The man had abandoned them both it seemed; but for the moment Scott felt content to pick up where the feral had left off with his new love interest. “You don’t need Wolverine to protect you. _I’m_ here.”

                Gambit pulled away, feeling his stitches pull and pinch. “Dammit, homme, get ahold of yourself! You don’t even know me!”

                “But I do, Remy! I do…you survived Sinister, and so have I. We have more in common than you know. Please, I want to help you…”

                They stared at each other for a moment, both unsure what to say. Remy’s empathy told him that Scott was being sincere in this moment, that despite the Charm, his words were his own. Cyclops wasn’t a predator, nor did he seem like he wanted to take advantage of him. But he was scared; and he was confused…and the attraction he was feeling was in fact real. But so was the jealousy.

                “I thank you for that,” the redhead replied, more quietly, trying to remain calm. “But de best way to help me is to get Logan back. Sil vous plait…I love him. Dere is no Remy wit’out Logan.”

                Scott’s face fell a bit and Remy felt almost sorry for him. “Yeah…Logan seems to feel the same way about you.” He sighed, looking resigned.

                The doors came open and they heard Beast’s hurried footsteps as he rushed into the room. “Scott!” he exclaimed.

                Cyclops jumped away from Remy as though he were a teenage boy who had been caught going up his girlfriend’s shirt. “Hank, I wasn’t—“

                Beast stepped into the room and grabbed his teammate by the back of the neck and frog marched him away as Remy watched haplessly from his bed. “I _do_ believe I was quite _clear_ about visitation restrictions with Mr. LeBeau, was I _not?”_ he muttered, foisting Scott out into the waiting room, where Bobby was still lingering.

                Cyclops glared at him for a second and the younger X-Man all but wilted under the gaze; “I’m sorry! But…but….I can’t lie to _Hank._ He’s _Hank!”_ he exclaimed. “It’s like lying to my mother…”

                Beast rolled his eyes. “Don’t apologize, Bobby, you did the right thing. I just hope you haven’t molested my patient Scott, I warned you about—“

                But Scott was suddenly looking pale and sweaty. “Oh my God…oh my God….what was I thinking?! Did I really tell him that I’m cute in uniform!?”

                Bobby nearly did a spit take. “Oh Lord, please tell me that you _did._ Oh my God…do you want me to take him a picture of you? I’m sure I have one that highlights how good your butt looks in yellow shorts.”

                “Bobby!”

                “That’s enough out of _both_ of you,” Hank muttered, shoving them both towards the door. Bobby could not stop laughing, though Scott looked like he might actually melt through the floor and die. His face was bright red with embarrassment.

“I told him I was hotter than Wolverine. _Oh My God._ I said that _out loud!”_

“This is the best day of my life,” Bobby giggled, tears rushing down his cheeks he was laughing so hard.

                Once he was rid of them, Hank hurried back to Remy’s side. “I’m so, so, sorry about that. Are you alright? Scott’s harmless, sincerely, and he’s usually not so…”

                Remy waved him off. “It’s fine, cher. I know what my Charm does to people, believe me, I’m used to it. Just hope he don’t hate me for it.” He paused, then looked at the blue-furred mutant anxiously. “Is Logan missing?”

                Beast stood very still for a moment, considering and then nodded. “I’m afraid so. We’ve been out of contact with him since before we found you…Angel and a few of the others have gone to form a search party.”

                Remy looked shaken by the idea; “Dis is because of me…he’s out dere looking for me. Who knows what de hell coulda happened to him…”

                Hank put a hand on his shoulder lightly, “Wolverine is extremely capable. Even if he did run into some trouble, I’ve no doubt he will find his way out of it. After all, he has something very important he’s trying to get back to.”

He smiled encouragingly at Remy, but the Cajun didn’t seem heartened. “He would have been better off if he never met me…” he mumbled.

                “I don’t believe that.” Hank said softly, surprising the man. “I’ve known Logan a long time…he’s always been someone who was looking for a cause, something to hold on to. I think he found that in you, Remy. I think you were the missing piece in his life; he’s not the type to give that up easily.”

                There was quiet sadness in his voice that Gambit began to recognize whenever Beast spoke about the feral man. Remy didn’t know what to say, beginning to piece together the fabric of Logan’s life before they had met; the people and places that made up his world. Good people, kind people, people who loved him as much as Remy did.

                Hank sighed, wanting to fill the heavy silence between them and distract himself. “Well, since you’re up anyway, I suppose we should try to do some exercises, if you’re not feeling too tired.”

                “Oui, but….” Remy glanced at the door beyond the lab. “Do you t’ink I could have a look around? I t’ink maybe I could walk a little ways…if you don’t mind.”

                Hank seemed surprised by the notion and a little nervous. He’d been keeping Remy in the protective bubble of his lab, where he was certain his powers wouldn’t pose a danger to himself or others. But he couldn’t keep him sealed off from everyone else forever; he would have to trust his patient. “Well, most of the students are in classes now…I suppose a little walk might be refreshing change of pace.”

                He helped the man to stand, letting him get his balance before detaching his IV from the wall to allow it to travel.

                Remy felt embarrassed at needing help to stand on his own; he used to scale buildings, crawl through air vents, all manner of nonsense without a thought. Now even stooping to sit felt daunting. But he pushed himself, despite the pain. Pushing himself was the only way Remy knew to get through anything in life; to just keep moving forward until what tried to hold him back finally lost its grip.

                He made it to the lab door, and out into the hallway easily enough, and Hank helped him onto the elevator that lead to the main floor and beyond. As the doors slid open, the Cajun found himself startled by the abrupt change in scenery.

                Hank’s lab was all modern, cool, metallic and minimalist in its high tech efficiency. But beyond the door of the elevators, Remy felt like he was walking into another time, another place all together. Polished hardwood floors, cream colored walls, class and staff photographs arranged along the corridors between doorways; a bustle of activity and voices everywhere…

                They were greeted by a faint whirring sound and turned to see Xavier himself rolling towards them in his wheelchair. “Mr. LeBeau! What a thrill it is to see you up and about!” the man grinned, extending his hand for Remy to take.

                “Remy, this is Charles Xavier, headmaster of this school and the founder guiding hand of the X-Men.” Beast explained, nodding between the two men.

                “It’s an honor, sir,” Remy mumbled, studying Xavier’s face. He looked older than perhaps he was, his features sharp and pensive, but his eyes were kind. The moment he took his hand, Gambit realized he’d met the man before; or rather, he’d heard the man in his mind. “Thank you, for takin’ pity on me. I’d be lost otherwise.”

                “It was far from pity, Mr. LeBeau. You were in need of help; and that’s exactly what he we are here for; to help.” Xavier answered with a pleasant nod. “I want you to know that you are safe here; you needn’t worry about reprisals from Sinister or any of his subordinates. I sense you know already that I am a telepath.”

                “Oui,” Remy nodded. “You spoke to me…surprised you could.”

                “Yes, you’re energy field is highly unique; I can’t say I’ve ever encountered anything quite like it. He was right to fear your abilities. I am sorry that I wasn’t able to intervene sooner.” He noted that the man looked pale, and pained and nervous. He seemed to be realizing that Charles knew more about him than even Logan could have told him.

_“You looked into my head.”_

_“Yes; but only because of the grave nature of your injuries_. _You have nothing more to hide from me, Remy. I promise you that you are safe and welcomed here.”_

Remy looked at him with glassy eyes, making them look that much stranger, and that much more vulnerable, but Charles only smiled and squeezed his hand. “We are so glad to have you. I look forward to getting to know you better myself; rather than simply relying on Logan’s accounts.”

He glanced to Hank, who was already easing Gambit down into the wheelchair he’d brought with him. “I’m impressed with your recovery, but I don’t want you to push yourself too hard too soon and undo all of Hank’s fine work.”

                “Oui, I’ll keep dat in mind, M’sieur.” he nodded, not quite able to meet the old man’s eyes.

                “We’ll talk a bit more later, for now let Hank give you the tour. He knows the place as well as I do,” he glanced up at McCoy. “Perhaps even better some days.”

                Beast nodded and wheeled Remy onward as Xavier took his leave, returning to whatever task he had at hand. The blue furred mutant squeezed Remy’s shoulder lightly; “What did you mean when you said you were surprised?” he asked cautiously.

                “My energy makes a barrier of static around my mind…dat and my empathy makes me somewhat undesirable to telepaths. We bounce off each other, like oil and water, I guess you’d say.”

                “Fascinating.”

                Remy chuckled softly and let Hank wheel him down the hall, peering in every open door he could. There were so many faces; young faces; kids aging anywhere from twelve to late teens. Remy caught little flashes of them as he passed; they were normal kids, seeming to be preoccupied with normal problems; school work, crushes, final exams, progress reports and sports…yet they were all distinctly mutant; distinctly different, even if many appeared completely normal on the surface.

                It was shocking him to see so many of his own kind gathered in a place of this, with no whiff of fear, no heavy pall of doom or threat of imminent violence. It was an entirely new experience for him; one he knew he’d never forget.

                “Where did you find dem all?” he asked quietly.

                “Charles found them…or they came to us. Whatever the circumstance, they have all found their way here. I often marvel at it myself…it makes you realize that we are not quite so alone as we may have once believed. There’s a great sense of community here in the school; one that I think you’ll come to appreciate. And not just among the students, but the staff as well. We are more like a family than merely teammate or co-workers.”

                “I never…I never knew a place like dis could even _exist_ ,” Remy admitted. “Not even before Sinister did I t’ink dis was possible…” he glanced back at Hank over his shoulder; “And everyone knows what dis place is? What you are?”

                “The community is well aware of our specialized education. Most have accepted us and others…are at least respectful enough to keep their distance. Not that I give them any choice. I designed our entire security grid, you see. I’m sure you’ll find that even the Pentagon is not as secure.” He grinned, feeling rather proud of himself.

                “Well, dat _is_ impressive…” Remy admitted. “Though, I’ve been into de Pentagon at least twice myself…and dat was before I even…” he caught himself, licking his lips lightly. “Nevermind.”

                “Ever the man of mystery,” Hank nodded.

                “Of course. Dat’s part of de charm, cher.”

                There was a chiming sound then that made him look up, followed almost immediately by the rustle of books and backpacks and restless feet lifting themselves from chairs and tables to reach for the door. Hank hurriedly wheeled Remy out of the line of fire as dozens of students poured out into the hall, ready to head to their next class.

                Many passed without giving them a second glance, their thoughts elsewhere. But others paused or glanced over their shoulders, as if unsure of their eyes. As many boys as girls stopped to admire the strange, handsome new comer, making Hank decide that they needed a quick detour.

                “Well, now you’ve done it,” he said behind his he wheeled him along; “It’s a good thing Warren has taken over my classes for the time being; I doubt I would be able to keep their attention now that they’ve seen you.”

                Remy felt embarrassment creep over him and he huddled down a little lower in his chair. “Desole, maybe we should go back to de lab…”

                “Oh, Remy, I was only teasing! You’re a very attractive looking young man, and all new arrivals attract gossip and interest around here. Don’t worry about it,’ Hank amended quickly. “Are you feeling alright though? Shall we return?”

                Remy nodded mutely, and Hank started to turn him around when someone nearly crashed right into them. The girl, short and dark haired, wearing hot pink sunglasses perched on the top of her shaggy black hair and a rather garish yellow trench coat, screeched as she tripped over the feet of Remy’s wheelchair and ended up tumbling right into his lap.

                Both moaned loudly at the collision, while Hank froze in momentary shock. “Jubilation! Watch where you are going!”

                “Sorry!” the girl exclaimed, more exasperated than apologetic, till she looked up and saw the pained, awkward expression on Gambit’s face. “Oh jeezus! I’m sorry, are you okay!? I didn’t hurt you did I?!”

                “S’fine, cherie,” Remy grunted, though he sounded lightly winded.

                The girl blinked at him then, straightening herself, and her curious gaze turned into a rapt grin; “Oh my God! You’re him aren’t you?! You’re Remy! Wow, your eyes really _are_ something; I totally thought he was exaggerating that, or that you would have some weird bug eyed thing going on but…wow.”

                “Pardon?”

                “I’m Jubilation Lee, but everyone here just calls me Jubilee! Get it?” she grinned, “Logan is like my…big brother. Sorta. Kinda. I took the old grump in ya know, he needed someone to look after him. When I met him he was kinda of drunk loner beating the shit out of people at bars…I guess not too much has changed.” She giggled and Remy couldn’t help but smile at her. She was so warm and bright and bubbling with life…Remy felt revived just being around her.

                “Any friend of Logan’s is a friend of mine,” Gambit nodded, “You must be brave, takin’ on such a big responsibility like Logan. I’m sure you keep him in line though, non?”

                “I do my best,” she nodded resolutely. “Hey, please say you’re gonna stick around, huh? We’ve got lots of room here and I know it’d sure make Wolvie happy…and he’s _never_ happy.”

                “Wolvie?” Remy chuckled and then winced. “Oh petite, I can tell you and I are gonna be de best of friends.” He reached into his pants pocket and produced a card, a joker, and let it ignite. Hank tensed for a moment, until he saw the card start to levitate as it collected energy, glowing faintly pink, then bright fuschia, then almost purple, burning and shifting into a star and before bursting into a bright pop of embers which rained down like fireworks.

                “Impressive!” Hank exclaimed.

                “You like things that go pop, huh?” the girl asked, taking a step back and opening her palms, creating a splash of psionic orbs that glowed and crackled in bright hues before bursting with a pops and bangs. “We should do a show sometime!”

                Remy was impressed, and moreover, he was _smiling_ , feeling relaxed and content in this new company. The feeling was so warm and so bright that it actually startled him and he realized with a pang how long he’d lived without joy or even a semblance of it.

                Jubilee looked at him with concern. “Hey…you aren’t supposed to _cry_ at fireworks!” she gasped.

                Remy blinked, realizing his eyes were damp and he brushed the offending moisture away quickly and gave her a disarming smile; “Non, petite, pardon et moi…I’m just tired s’all, and happy to have met you. Wasn’t sure I’d ever get de chance.”

                She blinked at him and then winked; “Wow, you’re a real softy aren’t ya? Damn…Wolvie never stood a chance against you; hot _and_ a nice guy.”

                “That’s enough, Jubilation.” Hank coaxed then, “I think I should take Mr. LeBeau back to his room to rest.”

                “Aw Beast, quit hogging him! You and Storm have had him all to yourselves for weeks! He’s an X-Men now, ain’t he? He needs to get to know the team!”

                “Nothing’s been decided on that,” Hank insisted, giving her a more stern look over his glasses. “Though your exuberance at the idea is noted. Now, I do believe you’re late for class…”

                “Crap, yeah. Cyclops is always crabby when I show up late.” She leaned in gave Remy a quick hug around the neck and a peck on the cheek. “Get better soon, okay? I wanna see more card tricks!”

                “Count on it, petite!”

 

**

               

                Later that night, Hank found himself abruptly awoken from his impromptu nap at his desk by a anguished sound. He was up and moving before he was even fully awake, stumbling wide eyed towards the isolate where Remy was sleeping.

                Only Remy wasn’t in his bed. Hank heard the shower running and started a run, realizing that his patient must have decided to try and wash himself and had perhaps fallen. “Remy? Remy?!”

                He pulled open the door and found Remy sitting on the floor in the shower stall, huddled in the corner of the wall. But the moment he entered, the Cajun glared in his direction. “Get out!” he yelled.

                Startled, Hank stood motionless, trying to understand what was happening in front of him. There were bright red scratch marks across Gambit’s skin, and he was sobbing harshly, though the heavy spray of water and the way his hair covered his face made it difficult to discern his expression.

                “A-are you alright? Do you need help?”

                “Non, just…just _please!_ Please go! GO!” he shouted again and this time Hank complied, slipping out of the bathroom stall and hesitating just on the other side of the closed door. His pulse had quickened, he could smell Remy’s distress, feel his rage…this was rage; shame and disgust. Hank suddenly knew what he was dealing with, but had no idea what to say or do. He didn’t want to leave Gambit alone in this state; afraid he might injure himself, accidentally or otherwise. But he wanted to respect the man’s privacy as well.

                For the moment he stood, listening as the man cried and muttered to, cursing and speaking angrily at himself or other phantoms for a time. Then, eventually, the water stopped. Hank tensed, listening. He heard Gambit struggle to his feet, heard the faint slapping of bare wet feet on tile floor and heard his approach.

                The Cajun, dripping wet and barely covered with a towel, stood dejectedly in front of him, staring at the floor, looking half drowned. “Sorry about dat, Beasty…” he said then, looking up and attempting to smile, though his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy and he looked shaken. “Couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d take a shower…hot water relaxes me.”

                Hank nodded mutely, and handed him a robe from the hook by the door. It was too big and swallowed the man up, but it was better than nothing. “Can I um, get you anything? How about some tea?”

                “C’est bon, mon ami.”

                Hank nodded and quickly made his way over to counter where he kept his hot plate and tea kettle and ample supply of tea. Coffee kept him stimulated during the day, but tea was his vice, his indulgence. He and Charles used to share a cup often, but their meetings were rare now.

                Beast was careful to keep his back to Remy as the man dressed, though he caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of his eye, seeing more fresh marks on his skin. Hank bit his lower lip, waiting for the kettle to boil and steam.

                “Do you…want to talk about it?”

                “Non,” Remy said quickly, quietly. “Remy will be fine.”

                “Of course you will, you’ve proven that.” Hank nodded. “But, I’m always here to listen if you should need to talk; about anything.” He gave him what he hoped was an endearing smile, and Remy attempted to return it.

                “You’re very kind, Hank. But you already done so much for me. Don’t t’ink I’ll ever be able to repay you.”

                “You owe me nothing, my friend. I’m a doctor, making people well is my business. More over, you’re a mutant, and someone very important to Logan…I consider it an honor.”

                “You t’ink…you t’ink he will still want me after…?” Remy looked down at himself, at the bright pink scars that now adorned his stomach. They were ugly and raw and puckered, the bruising around them still hadn’t quite faded. He didn’t want to think about the other marks, about the scars inside him now that no one could see, but he could still feel. Remy felt ruined, tainted. He’d been abused before of course, but no one had ever left such a mark on him before, such a symbol of destruction. This was something he couldn’t push away, couldn’t bury in his mind and forget about it. It was there, always, for everyone to see.

                “You don’t have to ask,” Hank insisted. He paused for a moment, and then asked the question that had been in his mind since the day they’d found Gambit. “Who did this to you? Was it Sinister?”

                Remy hung his head, and Hank could feel his fear, his frustration. He wasn’t sure why the man did not want to divulge this detail; though it had been clear after his second evaluation that some of Remy’s memory of the event had been lost due to the trauma. But this hesitation felt more deliberate, more calculated. Like he was afraid to say it aloud.

                “I…I can’t do dis. Desole, I just…I can’t.”

                Hank put his big hand over Remy’s and squeezed lightly. “It’s fine. I won’t ask again.” The tea kettle started to whistle then and he excused himself to retrieve it.

Remy felt himself shaking; he wasn’t sure why he couldn’t tell Hank. Maybe it would reveal too much, too many questions would be asked. Maybe it was because he still couldn’t believe Victor had done it…even though he should have seen it coming. Even though part of him always knew it was coming. Creed was a killer; a monster, an unsympathetic psychopath whom had done this and worse to others on more than one occasion. Yet Remy had hoped…he still remembered that night in Texas. He still remembered that man who had intervened in the bar. He still remembered _that_ Victor. And even though he knew now that that man was only an illusion, and the man in the tunnels was Creed showing his truest nature…Remy still felt he had been taken for a fool.

He was a fool to keep trusting people. He had trusted John…and look where that had landed him. Now hundreds of people were dead…maybe this was the price he had to pay. Maybe he deserved it.

                Hank was pressing a cup into his hands then and he looked up as if he had forgotten the other man was there. “Drink up, and then back to bed. You look exhausted.”

                “Merci,” Remy nodded, sipping his drink absently. For a time the two sat in awkward silence, and then Hank spoke again.

                “If you’re having trouble sleeping, I could always give you something to help you rest.”

                Remy nodded mutely, grateful he didn’t have to explain his nightmares. He looked up then, “Aside from you, and de Professor….does anyone else know about my…?”

                Hank shook his head. “Of course not. All of that has been kept completely confidential.”

                “What about Storm? She pulled me out of de tunnel…she must know.”

                “I…believe she suspects. But I haven’t discussed that with her.”

                “I’d…appreciate it if you could keep it between us den, Hank.” The Cajun said. “Don’t want people to t’ink…I don’t want people treating me different. Lookin’ at me different. You understand?”

                Hank felt a little pinch in his stomach that Gambit thought he would be looked down on for having suffered this kind of abuse, but nodded. “Of course.”

                The auburn haired man nodded, relieved, and took another sip of his drink before setting it aside and falling back into his bed. “Thank you, Hank. You’re a good friend.”

 

**

 

                It took another two weeks under Hank’s constant watch and care before Gambit was finally released from the lab, and given his own room in the mansion. It was roughly the size of an average dorm room and furnished with a bed, dresser, and desk. Remy had nothing personal to furnish it with, so for the moment it looked sparse and bland. Hank had made sure that Remy received a room with a private bath for his personal comfort as well. On top of that, the room was located right across the hall from Wolverine’s.

                Gambit stared at the closed door from his bed, silent and listless, playing with his cards. Storm had left days ago to join the search party for Logan, but there had been no sign of the man. Remy felt like he was living in a strange sort of limbo; or that perhaps he was still unconscious in Hank’s lab and this was all a dream.

                He had forgotten how to function, how to act…it had been years since he’d been any place that made him feel this…normal. But without Logan it felt strange and surreal, like he was missing piece of himself. His constant fear was that Sinister had found Logan on his own and had taken him back to his lair…what he would do with the man seemed uncertain, yet Wolverine’s abilities would make him a prize specimen for Essex’s experiments.

                He did his best to keep this terror to himself however, trying to focus on adapting to his new surroundings. While the students of the Institute seemed more than welcoming, some of the staff still seemed to have its reservations.

                Cyclops; the man who had unceremoniously burst in on him in the lab that day, kept Remy at arm’s length, always watching him closely but rarely interacting with Remy. Gambit knew the man was still suffering from some embarrassment since their last encounter, but there was something else that was holding him back as well; and Remy could read mistrust and jealousy on a person as easily as others might identify a change in the weather.

                Warren, the mutant also known as Angel, hadn’t been very open either. Gambit came to understand that the young blonde had been on the front lines of the battle after the massacre, trying to stop the Marauders and save survivors. What he’d seen there had left him somewhat scarred…Remy could barely bring himself to hold eye contact with the man, much less hold a conversation. There was also Colossus, Forge, Kitty Pryde, the young woman known as Rogue, and several other members who were friendly enough to Remy, but wary of him as well.

                He was wary of them as well; he didn’t know if he could survive trusting anyone else, opening himself up to the idea of a better life seemed like asking too much of fate. He stood up and made his way across the hall, coming to stand at Logan’s door. Hesitantly he tried the knob and found it unlocked. It opened with a soft click and he stepped inside, peering into the dim room.

                Immediately he was taken in by the smell; it was warm and earthy, and smoky. Like aged leather, whisky and cigar smoke. The furnishings were few; a bed, a dresser, an arm chair and two bedside tables and a television. But there were a few personal things. Books…lots of them. Logan had a stack near his bed, mostly classics, some more recent titles. There was a plant near the window; a tiny, lovingly cultivated Japanese bonsai. Remy snorted faintly with amusement…he wouldn’t have thought Logan the type to grow plants. There were no photos on the wall, but there was a newspaper clipping by the bed. Upon picking up it, he realized it was a picture of him when he had escaped the tunnels and had gone on a rampage back in New Orleans.

                Gambit stared at the photo, barely recognizing himself. The newsprint was smudged and warn thin from being handled so much. “Oh cher, I’m so sorry.”

                He dropped down on the bed and curled there, lying across the worn plaid blanket, wishing that somehow he could evoked Wolverine back into existence beside him. He couldn’t of course; but for the moment just being there, in his room, surrounded by his things…it was almost as good as the real thing. It was certainly closer than Gambit thought he’d ever be again.

                He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

                He woke again, what felt like minutes later, to the sound of hard rain and rolling thunder. Remy sat up, confused, and saw lightning crackle outside the windows. He stood, shaking off his grogginess and moved towards them, staring at the sky. There was daylight a few moments ago, but now it seemed black a night. Gambit glanced at the clock and realized he’d only been dozing for less than an hour, the sudden change in the weather seemed rather drastic.

                Than he saw a figure making her way across the lawn. Her white hair billowed in the wind, so did the tails of her jacket, making her look strange and ethereal. Storm crossed the threshold of the lawn, and Remy could tell that she was the one causing it all, as the rain seemed to fall just behind her, as if trailing at her heels.

                “Uh oh, dat can’t be good…”

                He hurried to the door of Logan’s room and stepped out into the hall, only to bump into Jubilee. “Hey, what’s going on?” the girl asked, seeming disturbed by the sudden thundering above their heads.

                “Don’t know, petite, but t’inking it probably no good. You should go on back to your room now,” Remy said hurriedly, making his way along the hall. But Jubilee followed him, right at his heels.

                “Is Storm back? Do you think she found Logan?”

                “Didn’t see no sign of him, and by de sound of the weather…” Remy replied. The pair made their way down the steps until they came to the landing, then Remy suddenly fell back, flattening himself against the wall, staying out of sight of the front doorway.

                Storm had just entered, and Hank and Jean were there to greet her.

                “Ororo, what is the matter!?” Hank asked hurriedly, shielding himself from the gale of wind from the open door as he struggled to close it behind her.

                The dark skinned woman exhaled deeply, as if trying to compose herself, and they heard the pounding drum of rain on the roof begin to lessen faintly. “I found him.” She said to the others.

                “Well…where is he?” Jean asked. “Storm, why isn’t he with you?”

                “He won’t speak to me. I finally got a lead in Virginia; he’d been making his way back up since leaving Mississippi, ran into the Brotherhood along the way. I finally caught up with him in Maine, but…he ran from me.”

                “Why on earth would he do that?” Hank balked.

                The white haired woman looked like she would either explode or deflate, caught somewhere in between. Remy could feel sense how hurt she was, and how angry. It was coming off her in waves like the wind off the ocean.

                Jean stepped forward, putting a hand on Ororo’s arm. “Storm, you can’t blame yourself. Logan is…unpredictable about these things.”

                “That’s not it, Jean. He wouldn’t even _talk_ to me. He saw me and went in the opposite direction. He looked at me like…like I was the last person in the world he wanted to see.” Her shoulders fell and she slumped against the wall, covering her face for a moment as she struggled to keep her composure. “It’s my fault…he’s still angry with me.”

                “Logan knows you didn’t mean those things; you were speaking out of concern, we all felt the same way.” Hank replied, hoping to console her.

                “You had every right to say what you did,” Jean agreed; “Logan wasn’t himself. He hasn’t been himself, not since he met Gambit. He was obsessed…you were right to tell him that.”

                “No…I wasn’t. I was jealous. And I was afraid for him.” Ororo replied. “He was in pain, he was desperate; he needed someone to help and I told him to stop looking, to stop driving himself crazy, that Remy was gone…” There were tears in her eyes now. “I turned on him; _again._ I let him down. Of course he ran from me.”

                Hank put his arms around her and she went willingly, clutching him tightly.

                “Oh man…” Jubilee gasped softly beside him.

                Remy put his hand on her arm and pulled away from the wall, turning back down the corridor where they had come. “Hey, where are we going?”

                “You? You’re back to your room to study, petite. Remy has other business…”

                “Like what?”

                “Going to get our Wolvie back.”

                Jubilee’s feet suddenly rooted to the ground, and she pulled out of his grip. “What? No way! You can’t just take off after him; you don’t even know where he is!”

                “Storm said she followed him to Maine. It’s a big place, chances are, he still there.”

                “Yeah, but you don’t even know _where._ ”

                “I’ll find out, don’t you worry.”

                “Remy, this is crazy…you just started walking again without help…what if something happens to you?”

                “Remy good at t’inking on his feet, cherie.”

                “Ugh, you’re just as bad as Wolverine! You two deserve each other, I swear to God!”

                Gambit looked at her seriously, holding her by the shoulders. “Petite, you got to promise me you won’t say nothin’ to dem, at least not until I get a head start. Logan’s out dere…probably t’inking de worst. I got to go to him. You understand, don’t you?”

                “I understand that all the adults in my life are more reckless and crazy than I am.” Jubilee sighed. “But I guess I can’t really stop you either.”

                Remy kissed her cheek. “Never worry; I bring him home to you, safe and sound. Cajun’s honor.”

                “Is that even a thing?”

                “Could be a thing.”

                “Can I at least go with you?”

                “Now dat _would_ be irresponsible. You stay put, give me a few hours, I find my way up north. Den you can let dem know where I gone.”

                She sighed; “Okay, but if I get detention for this, I’m going to tell the Professor it was all your idea!”

 

***

 

                Eight hours later, frozen and smelling of diesel fuel and truck stops, Remy found himself sitting in a rat hole of a dive bar, filled with fisherman and the smell of ocean water, fish and stale beer. It was far from his scene, but that concerned him very little.

                All that did concern him was the dark haired man who was sitting at the end of the bar, looking for all the world like he had lost everything and was planning on drinking himself into oblivion. His heart had leapt into his chest the moment the man had entered the bar, and he should have run to him then and there, held him and refused to let go.

                Yet he hesitated, sitting now with his back to the man at a far table, watching him out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t help but feel a deep pinch of anxiety at the thought of revealing himself now. Doing so would be mean explaining what had happened, where he’d been…

                Would Logan understand? What would he do when he learned that Remy had been in Sinister’s clutches for so long? About the things he’d done to stay sane, to find a way back to him? What would Logan do when he learned the truth?

                The fear of his lover’s rejection was enough to root him to the spot, wondering if he should have come here at all. How could Logan still want him after all that had happened? It seemed so impossible.

                He took a chance then, looking over his shoulder to see Logan more directly. The man looked so sad, so broken. Remy drew in a breath and opened himself to the man’s emotions, focusing. Grief struck him, hard and fast. He realized that Logan thought he was _dead._ And the pain ran deeper than Remy could imagine.

                Gambit pulled back his influence, feeling his hands shake. “Oh cher….I’m so sorry…”

                A waitress passed him, tapping his arm lightly. “Honey, you alright? How about another drink?” she asked.

                Gambit kept his head low, not wanting to attract attention to himself. Not yet. “Non; but could you send dat gentlemen at de bar a shot of Southern Comfort for me, cherie? Merci.”

                “Sure, anything for you, honey.”

                He still, waiting.

                “I didn’t order this,” he heard Logan say.

                “I know. That fella at the table over there sent it over.”

                Remy remained perfectly still, feeling Logan’s eyes on him. His pulse quickened, his lips went dry. He was so close. He stood up, leaving money on the table, and made for the door. He heard Wolverine follow.  


End file.
